LAN  D    H  O 


BY 

MORGAN     ROBERTSON 

AUTHOR  OF 

"DOWN  TO  THE  SEA"  "SINFUL  PECK" 
"SPUN-YARN"  ETC. 


HARPER    6-   BROTHERS    PUBLISHERS 
NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 


Copyright,  1896,  1897,  1899,  1900,  1904,  1905, 
Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


Contents 

PAGE 

THE  DOLLAR 3 

THE  SHIP-OWNER 28 

THE  WAVE 67 

THE  COOK  AND  THE  CAPTAIN 91 

THE  LINE  OF  LEAST  RESISTANCE n? 

THE  LOBSTER M* 

ON  BOARD  THE  "ATHOL" 160 

THE  MAGNETIZED  MAN 169 

THE  MISTAKE l89 

THE  SUBMARINE  DESTROYER 220 

THE  DANCER        247 

ON  THE  Rio  GRANDE       301 


Land  Hoi 


The    Dollar 


HIS  name  was  Angus  Macpherson — pronounced 
MacPhai'rson — but  he  was  so  intensely  Scotch 
that  in  every  ship  he  had  sailed  in  men  called  him 
Scotty.  He  had  a  face  like  a  harvest-moon,  with  a 
sorrowful  expression  of  the  eyes,  a  frame  like  a 
gladiator's,  a  brogue  modified  from  its  original 
consistency  to  an  understandable  dialect,  and  the 
soul  of  a  Scotchman  —  which  means  that  he  was 
possessed  by  two  dominant  and  conflicting  passions, 
love  of  God  and  love  of  Mammon.  Add  to  these 
attributes  a  masterful  knowledge  of  seamanship  and 
an  acquaintance  with  navigation,  and  you  have  a 
rough  sketch  of  him  as  he  stood  at  the  wheel  of  a 
tow-barge  just  out  of  New  York. 

Her  name  was  the  Anita,  and  she  was  the  second 
barge  in  a  tow  of  two.  Ahead  of  her,  at  the  end 
of  a  ninety  -  fathom  steel  tow-line,  was  the  sister 
barge  Champion,  and  at  an  equal  distance  farther 
ahead  was  the  steamer  Proserpine.  Each  barge 
carried  stump  spars  and  mutton-leg  canvas — which 
was  why  Scotty,  weary  of  the  endless  work  in  the 
2  3 


Land   Ho ! 

deep-water  wind-jammers,  had  gone  "  tow-barg 
ing" — and  the  three  craft  belonged  to  one  owner. 

The  skipper,  a  young  man  with  a  humorous  face 
and  democratic  manner,  as  became  a  lowly  barge 
skipper,  appeared  before  the  Scotsman,  jingling  in 
his  hand  a  number  of  bright  silver  dollars.  Scotty 
eyed  them  hungrily. 

"Fine,  aren't  they,  Scotty?"  he  said.  "How 
many  of  these  plunkers  does  the  devil  need  to  buy 
your  soul?" 

"More  than  you  can  count,  Cappen  Bolt,"  an 
swered  Scotty,  gravely.  "My  soul  no  belongs  to 
me,  but  to  my  Maker." 

"  Nonsense,"  laughed  the  captain.  "  A  Scot  loves 
the  siller  first,  his  Maker  next.  Why,  a  Jew  can't 
make  a  living  in  your  country,  Scotty." 

"  Possibly  not,  cappen ;  but  it's  no  because  Scotch 
men  are  dishonest.  The  Lord  has  given  us  wits— 
that's  all." 

"Dead  broke,  Scotty?"  asked  Captain  Bolt,  idly. 

"I  banked  the  most  o'  my  pay,  sir.  Ay,  I'm 
what  you  might  call  broke." 

"Too  bad!  Ought  to  have  held  some  out. 
There  '11  be  no  money  at  Philadelphia.  Owner's 
kickin'.  Wants  to  save  the  interest,  and  he  won't 
pay  off  till  we  get  back." 

Scotty's  face  assumed  a  rueful  expression,  and 
Captain  Bolt  watched  it  from  the  tail  of  his  eye; 
then,  before  Scotty  could  speak,  the  prolonged 
clatter  of  the  steward's  dinner-bell  began,  and  the 

4 


The   Dollar 

captain  moved  towards  the  companion,  pocketing 
the  coins  as  he  went.  One  fell  on  the  deck,  the 
noise  of  the  bell  preventing  its  fall  being  heard,  and 
the  captain  did  not  see  it.  But  Scotty  did,  and  he 
watched  it  roll  back  towards  the  taffrail,  assume  a 
spiral  motion,  and  lie  down  just  aft  of  the  quarter- 
bitt.  The  captain  was  now  down  in  the  cabin,  but 
Scotty  picked  up  the  coin  to  hold  for  him  until  he 
came  up.  He  should  have  let  it  lie. 

For  it  was  bright  and  beautiful  to  look  at,  hard 
and  slippery  to  the  touch  as  he  held  it  in  his  trousers 
pocket,  a  pleasing  contrast  to  the  coming  emptiness 
of  that  pocket  in  Philadelphia.  Scotty's  soul  went 
through  the  usual  conflict  in  such  cases,  and  when 
Captain  Bolt  came  up,  rubbing  his  mouth,  love  of 
Mammon  had  won  over  love  of  God,  and  he  said 
nothing  about  it.  Shortly  after,  he  was  relieved, 
and  he  went  forward.  On  the  way  a  revulsion  set 
in,  and  he  turned  back,  resolved  to  hand  it  over,  as 
though  he  had  forgotten;  but  the  captain  had 
stepped  below  again,  and  with  the  memory  of  his 
boasted  honesty  and  the  certainty  of  the  captain's 
scepticism  and  ridicule  in  his  mind,  he  turned 
again  and  went  to  the  forecastle.  When  he  had 
eaten  his  dinner,  and  slept  four  hours,  he  found  on 
waking  that  his  inclination  to  return  it  was  stronger 
than  at  noon;  but  the  certainty  of  being  disbe 
lieved  had  gained  equally  in  strength,  and  the  dollar 
remained  in  his  pocket — a  source  of  guilty  joy  and 
expectant  misgiving.  He  longed  for  the  day  when 

5 


Land    Ho! 

it  would  be  spent  and  off  his  mind,  and  calculated 
the  days  and  hours  before  the  tow  would  reach 
Philadelphia. 

But  Scotty  did  not  reach  Philadelphia;  he  fell 
overboard  just  within  the  Delaware  capes,  and 
though  he  bawled  lustily  as  the  black  side  of  the 
barge  slipped  by  him  in  the  darkness,  and  was 
answered  in  kind  by  his  watchmates  above,  the 
noise  did  not  reach  the  relentless  power  eleven  hun 
dred  feet  away,  and  he  was  left  behind.  But  one 
had  thrown  him  a  life-buoy,  and  on  this  he  floated 
until  daylight,  when  an  outbound  tug  picked  him 
up.  The  tug  was  bound  to  Boston. 

"I'll  e'en  make  the  best  o'  it,"  said  Scotty,  as  he 
wrung  out  his  wet  clothing  in  the  tug's  small  fore 
castle.  "  And  I'll  regard  the  dollar  as  a  special  dees- 
pensation  of  an  all-wise  Providence ;  for  what  would 
I  do  in  Boston  wi'oot  a  bit  o'  money  in  my  clothes?" 

But  he  did  not  reach  Boston.  The  tug  had  a  full 
crew,  scant  accommodations,  and  a  hard-hearted 
captain,  who  decreed  that  Scotty  should  be  put 
aboard  the  first  craft  that  would  take  him.  This 
happened  to  be  a  three-skysail-yard  American  ship 
— the  Baltimore — two  days  out  from  New  York  for 
Shanghai,  whose  skipper  backed  his  yard  in  an 
swer  to  the  tug-captain's  offer  to  give  him  a  sailor, 
and  whose  third-mate  received  Scotty  —  not  with 
open  arms,  but  clinched  fists,  as  he  dropped,  swear 
ing,  to  the  deck  in  a  bosun's  chair. 

"You  ought  to  be  glad  you're  alive,"  said  her 

6 


The   Dollar 

skipper,  harshly,  when  Scotty  had,  later,  come  aft 
to  protest  against  his  abduction.  "He  pulled  you 
out  of  a  life-buoy,  where  you'd  ha'  drowned  'fore 
the  next  craft  came  along,  and  puts  you  aboard  a 
big,  safe  ship  where  you  couldn't  fall  overboard  if 
you  tried.  Get  forward,  now,  and  stop  this  talk." 

"And  am  I  to  be  put  on  the  articles?"  demanded 
Scotty.  "  I  expect  to  wark  where'er  I  be ;  but  do  I 
get  pay,  I'm  askin'?" 

"No.  My  articles  are  full.  You'll  wark  your 
passage." 

"Four  months'  sleevery  in  a  hell-ship,"  growled 
Scotty,  as  he  went  forward.  "This  comes  o'  back- 
sleedin'.  Lord  forgi'  me  for  it,  but  the  punishment 
is  hard.  Howe'er,  I'll  just  hang  on  to  the  dollar. 
I'll  ha'  earned  it  long  this  side  o'  the  cape." 

He  did,  and  continued  to  earn  it  until  the  ship 
had  neared  the  Yangtse  -  Kiang.  Marked  for  the 
officers'  attentions  by  his  initial  profane  and  irrev 
erent  comment  on  his  transferral  by  the  tug- cap 
tain,  he  was  assaulted  on  the  slightest  provocation 
by  the  mates — no  bigger  than  he  or  more  skilful  of 
fist,  but  justified  by  the  law — and,  though  easily 
the  best  sailorman  of  the  mixed  crew,  was  put  at 
distasteful  tasks  while  inferior  men  worked  at 
sailorly  work  on  ropes  and  rigging. 

There  was  nothing  of  this  in  the  watch  below, 
for  Scotty  could  thrash  the  best  two  men  forward, 
and  led  them  all  in  forecastle  discourse;  but  as  it 
was  a  mixed  crew,  none  too  honest,  in  his  opinion, 

7 


Land   Ho ! 

he  made  a  monk-bag — a  leather  pocket — for  his 
dollar,  and  hung  it  around  his  neck;  and,  to  fur 
ther  protect  the  precious  coin,  forswore  his  religion, 
called  himself  a  Catholic  and  the  monk-bag  a  phy 
lactery,  with  a  saint's  relic  within.  This  brought 
him  to  the  notice  of  a  gentle-souled  Portuguese  of 
the  crew,  a  true  believer,  who  made  friends  with  the 
Scot  and  earned  his  confidence  before  he  learned  of 
the  shamness  of  the  phylactery.  Scotty,  on  lookout 
one  night,  told  him  this  in  a  burst  of  confidence  that 
also  included  a  confession  of  his  peculation.  His 
friend,  horrified,  not  at  the  theft,  but  at  the  sacri 
legious  fraud,  informed  him  that  the  coin  was  ac 
cursed,  that  his  soul  was  accursed,  and  that  the  only 
salvation  for  him  in  this  life  and  the  next  was, 
first,  that  he  return  the  stolen  dollar  by  hand  to 
its  rightful  owner,  next  that  he  become  a  real  be 
liever  in  the  only  true  church  instead  of  an  im 
postor. 

"If  you  do  not,"  he  said,  "you  have  alia  time 
badda  luck  till  you  die,  then  purgatory  and  the 
flame." 

Perhaps  the  flames  of  Sheol  could  not  have  turned 
Scotty  from  his  faith ;  but  he  was  certainly  impressed 
with  the  first  clause  of  the  obligation. 

"Ye  maun  be  right,  Manuel,"  he  said;  "for, 
though  I  thought  it  a  deespensation,  I  find  that  all 
my  hard  luck  came  after  it.  I'll  gie  it  back  when  I 
may." 

"Who's  on  lookout  here?"  demanded  the  burly 


The    Dollar 

third  mate  as  he  climbed  the  forecastle  steps.  "  Hey, 
who's  on  lookout?" 

"I  am,  sir,"  answered  Scotty,  as  Manuel  drew 
out  of  the  way. 

"Get  down  on  the  main-deck,  you  dago  son  of 
a  thief,"  bellowed  the  officer,  aiming  a  kick  at  the 
retreating  Portuguese.  "D'  ye  see  that  light?"  he 
said  to  Scotty.  "With  a  man  to  help  you  keep 
lookout,  d'  ye  see  it?" 

Scotty,  derelict  in  his  duty,  did  not  see  it  for 
some  moments — in  fact,  not  until  the  third  mate 
was  through  with  him.  Then  he  looked  through 
closing  eyes  to  where  the  third  mate  pointed — 
dead  ahead,  where  a  white  light  shone  faintly  in 
the  darkness. 

"Ay,  ay,  sir,"  he  said,  thickly.  "I  see  it;  and 
I'll  e'en  remember  this  night  when  I  meet  ye  on 
shore,  Mr.  Smart.  I'm  no  shipped  in  the  craft,  and 
it's  a  matter  for  the  underwriters  to  know — puttin' 
me  on  lookout.  As  it  is,  I  doot  I'd  meet  trouble 
should  I  pull  yer  damned  head  off  the  noo.  I'm  no 
a  shipped  man,  d'  ye  hear?" 

The  last  was  like  the  roar  of  an  angry  bull,  and 
the  officer  backed  away  from  the  enraged  Scotch 
man.  Then  he  descended  the  steps,  and  in  a 
minute  a  man  came  up  and  relieved  him. 

The  light  did  not  move,  and,  the  wind  being 
gentle,  the  day  broke  before  the  ship  had  come 
up  to  it.  Then  they  saw  a  black  tramp  steamer, 
rolling  easily  in  the  trough,  with  a  string  of  small 

9 


Land   Ho ! 

flags  flying  from  aloft  and  the  English  ensign  from 
the  flag  -  staff  at  the  taffrail.  There  was  an  ex 
change  of  signals  between  the  two  crafts  until  eight 
bells  struck,  and  then  Scotty,  just  about  to  sit 
down  to  his  breakfast,  was  called  aft  and  told  to 
get  his  belongings  ready  for  another  transshipment. 
Scotty 's  belongings,  the  few  rags  he  had  collected 
by  various  methods  from  his  shipmates,  were  hardly 
worth  taking;  but  he  regretted  his  breakfast,  though 
glad  to  quit  the  ship.  As  he  slid  down  the  davit- 
tackle  he  surmised  the  meaning  of  the  change  by 
the  expression  on  the  third  mate's  face  as  he  peered 
over  the  rail,  and  some  words  uttered  by  the  cap 
tain,  among  which  he  only  made  out  one — "under 
writers." 

"I'm  told,"  said  the  semi-uniformed  captain  of 
the  tramp,  "that  you  are  a  castaway,  picked  up 
on  the  American  coast,  and  are  discontented  with 
the  ship." 

"  I  dinna  ken  what  the  sleeve-driver's  telt  ye, 
cappen,"  answered  Scotty,  his  brogue  a  little  thick 
er  from  his  emotions,  "but  I  agree  that  I'm  discon 
tented." 

"What's  wrong  with  your  face?" 

"Ran  foul  o*  the  third  mate's  fist  for  no  seem' 
your  light.  I  were  no  one  o'  the  crew,  yet  they  put 
me  on  lookout.  And  I  strongly  suspect,  cappen, 
that  I'm  bundled  off  mair  on  account  o'  that  than 
because  of  my  discontent." 

"Possibly;  but  I'm  a  man  short,  and  will  sign 

10 


The   Dollar 

you  at  Shanghai  wages  —  three  pounds  a  month. 
You  will  not  be  struck  here,  and  will  be  well  treated 
while  you  do  your  work.  We're  bound  for  Boston, 
and  will  go  on  when  the  engine  is  mended." 

"I'm  obleeged  to  ye,  sir,"  said  Scotty,  radiantly. 
"And  Boston's  the  port  for  me,  sir.  I've  strong 
reasons  for  strikin'  that  coast." 

He  still  had  his  dollar  secure  in  its  leather  casing, 
hung  to  his  neck;  but  in  this  ship  he  said  nothing 
about  it. 

Nothing  unpleasant  happened  to  him  on  this 
passage  homeward;  and  he  fondly  believed  that  his 
sincere  intent  to  return  the  dollar  to  Captain  Bolt  had 
changed  his  luck  —  that  his  painful  friction  with 
Mr.  Smart's  fist  was  a  providential  happening;  but 
Providence  had  ordered  otherwise,  and  in  this  man 
ner:  The  steamer  captain,  ahead  of  his  reckoning 
while  approaching  the  coast  in  thick  fog,  ran  his 
ship  at  full  speed  onto  the  sands  of  Cape  Cod.  He 
was  unable  to  back  off ;  a  rising  wind  and  sea  threw 
the  steamer  broadside  to  the  beach,  and  here  she 
churned  a  hole  for  herself  from  which  a  wrecking 
tug  could  hardly  pull  her. 

But  a  wrecking  tug  was  sent  for,  by  signals  to  the 
shore  when  the  fog  lifted,  and  in  time  one  arrived, 
with  a  lifeboat  in  tow — which  was  a  lucky  forethought 
of  some  one,  for  the  rising  wind  and  sea  had  developed 
into  a  storm  that  was  breaking  the  ship  in  pieces. 
Anchored  well  out,  and  steaming  with  full  power  into 
the  teeth  of  the  gale,  the  tug  slacked  down  the  life- 

ii 


Land   Ho! 

boat,  and  one  by  one  the  crew  sprang  into  the  sea  and 
was  pulled  in.  Six  trips  in  and  out  completed  the 
rescue,  and  Scotty  came  out  on  the  last,  with  the 
frantic  captain,  who  never  ceased  his  bitter  self- 
reproach. 

But  Scotty,  irresponsible,  had  troubles  of  his  own ; 
he  was  wet  and  cold — for  it  was  midwinter — and  once 
aboard  the  wrecking  tug,  he  fled  the  captain's  inward 
objurgations,  and  sought  the  warmth  of  the  fire- 
hold.  Here  he  burrowed  far  along  beside  the  boilers, 
and  being  utterly  exhausted  as  well  as  chilled  and 
drenched,  and  far  from  the  captain's  voice,  fell  into 
a  sleep  which  lasted  until  the  tug  had  tied  up  at 
Boston ;  then  he  came  out,  to  find  his  shipmates  gone 
ashore. 

"  Are  you  the  missing  man  o'  that  crew  ?"  asked  the 
mate  of  the  tug.  ''Your  skipper  says  to  stay  here, 
and  he'll  bring  you  your  pay." 

"  That's  gude,"  answered  Scotty,  cheerfully.  "  But 
I'll  just  stretch  my  legs  on  the  dock  a  wee  bit,  for  it's 
a  long  time  since  I've  been  ashore." 

The  tug  was  moored  outside  of  a  small  schooner, 
whose  crew,  as  he  crossed  her  deck,  were  "loosing" 
sails,  singling  lines  and  making  other  obvious  prep 
arations  to  getting  away.  As  he  mounted  her  rail  to 
climb  to  the  dock,  he  saw  his  captain  looking  sadly 
down  on  him. 

"It's  just  as  well,  my  man,"  he  said,  "that  you 
couldn't  be  found;  for  I  didn't  sign  you  before  the 
consul,  and  want  no  complications.  However,  I'll 

12 


The    Dollar 

pay  you  here.     Just  sign  this  receipt — an  even  two 
months  at  three  pounds  a  month." 

"Ay,  ay,  sir — and  thank  you,  cappen." 

He  reached  up  and  secured  the  slip  of  paper  and  a 
pencil  handed  down ;  then,  first  examining  the  docu 
ment  with  Scottish  caution,  knelt  down  and  signed 
his  name  to  a  receipt  for  six  pounds.  Passing  it  up, 
he  received  a  cylindrical  roll  of  coins  from  the  cap 
tain,  and  thanked  him  again.  Then  he  turned  to 
drop  to  the  deck;  but  his  foot  slipping  on  the  hard, 
painted  rail,  he  came  down  on  all  fours,  and  the  roll 
of  coin  left  his  grasp. 

11  Catch  it — quick!"  called  the  captain  from  above. 
"  Look  out  for  that  scupper ;  it's  rolling  right 
into  it." 

Scotty  made  a  frantic  scramble  towards  his  treas 
ure,  and  just  missed  closing  his  fingers  on  it  before 
it  rolled  into  the  scupper;  then  he  heard  the  tink 
ling  sound  as  it  struck  the  water  over  the  side. 

"Domnation!"  he  roared,  as  he  rose  to  his  feet. 
"  Twa  months'  pay  gone  to  the  de'il,  and  I  never  e'en 
laid  eyes  on  it." 

"I'm  very  sorry,  my  man,"  said  the  captain. 
"There  were  six  gold  sovereigns,  and  I  have  your 
receipt.  I  can't  pay  you  again." 

"Na,  na,  cappen,"  answered  Scotty,  as  sadly  as 
the  captain.  "  'Tis  na  fault  o'  yourn,  nor  mine;  it's 
my  luck,  and  it'll  ne'er  change  till  I  git  to  New  York 
and  find  my  old  skipper.  I'm  under  a  curse,  I  am." 

But  the  captain  had  gone. 

13 


Land   Ho! 

"Want  to  get  to  New  York?"  asked  a  voice  be 
hind  him. 

"That  I  do,"  said  Scotty,  shortly,  as  he  faced  the 
speaker.  It  was  the  captain  of  the  schooner. 

"I'm  a  man  short,"  he  said.   "Where's  yourclo's?" 

"  On  my  back,  cappen.  I  lost  twa  months'  pay 
the  noo,  and  can't  repleenish  my  wardrobe." 

"It's  fine  weather,  and  you  won't  need  any.  I 
pay  twenty  a  month.  Turn  to." 

Scotty  went  to  New  York  in  this  schooner — that 
is,  he  went  as  far  as  the  Sandy  Hook  Lightship, 
where  the  skipper,  a  man  of  poor  judgment,  mis- 
takingly  put  about  under  the  bow  of  an  out 
ward-bound  steamer,  which  had  slowed  down  to 
discharge  her  pilot,  and  which  went  ahead  too  soon 
for  the  welfare  of  that  schooner.  The  impact  was 
not  dead  on  —  it  was  a  glancing  blow  that  the 
schooner  received,  and  it  only  carried  away  the 
weather  main  rigging  and  the  davit  on  the  stern. 
But  Scotty  was  at  work  in  this  weather  main  rigging, 
and  foreseeing  disaster  to  the  frail  spider  web  to 
which  he  clung,  he  leaped  for  the  big  stockless  anchor 
of  the  steamer  just  before  it  caught  the  shrouds. 
On  this  he  sat  perched,  while  wire  rope  snapped  over 
and  around  him,  and  as  the  steamer  forged  ahead, 
managed  to  make  himself  heard  over  the  shouts  and 
curses  with  which  the  two  skippers  paid  their  part 
ing  compliments.  He  was  lifted  up  and  taken  to 
the  captain — a  man  black  in  the  face  from  rage  and 
overstrained  vocabulary. 

14 


The   Dollar 

The  captain  greeted  Scotty  with  inarticulate 
snorts. 

"And  can  ye  put  me  on  some  craft  bound  in, 
cappen?"  asked  Scotty,  anxiously. 

"  Na-ow,"  roared  the  irate  man.  "  Put  you  'board 
nothing.  Nor  will  I  put  you  on  the  articles,  curse 
you.  I'll  put  you  to  work,  and  if  you  don't  work 
your  hands  off,  I'll  charge  you  for  your  passage  to 
Melbourne.  Get  out  o'  this." 

"I  tell  ye,"  roared  Scotty,  in  return,  equally  en 
raged  at  the  prospect  of  another  trip  to  the  antipodes, 
"if  ye  don't  get  rid  of  me,  ye'll  no  reach  Melbourne. 
I'm  a  Jonah — a  Jonah  from  the  curse  that  has  come 
to  me.  Put  me  ashore,  ye  poor,  unfortunate  fule." 

Scotty  was  led  away — after  the  gentle  manner  of 
the  sea — and,  in  spite  of  his  loud  protestations  that 
he  was  a  competent  able  seaman,  placed  at  the  de 
grading  labor  of  coal  passing.  When  the  cooler  at 
mosphere  of  the  stoke-hole  had  lowered  his  temper 
ature  somewhat,  he  again  went  to  the  captain,  and 
earnestly  told  his  story — of  his  theft,  his  bad  luck 
and  the  bad  luck  he  had  brought  to  others. 

"The  curse  is  a-warkin'  and  a-growin'  on  me, 
cappen,"  he  concluded,  sorrowfully.  "I'm  the 
line-e-al  desceendent  o'  the  Flyin'  Dutchman,  sir. 
And  I'll  wrack  your  ship  wi'oot  meanin'  to." 

"I've  read  the  Bible,"  said  the  captain,  calmly. 
"  I  know  what  to  do  with  Jonahs.  I  always  throw 
them  overboard." 

Scotty  shoveled  and  wheeled  coal  for  three  months, 


Land   Ho ! 

then  his  prediction  was  fulfilled.  Within  a  day's  run 
to  Melbourne,  the  screw  slipped  off  the  tail-shaft,  and 
as  it  went  to  the  bottom  of  the  Indian  Ocean,  the 
racing  engine  went  to  pieces.  This  might  not  have 
prevented  the  steamer's  reaching  port  under  sail  or 
tow,  but  the  forward  crank-pin  broke,  and  the  piston 
drove  up  with  nothing  to  stop  it,  fetched  up  with 
a  mighty  jolt  against  the  cylinder  head — which  held 
— and  disconnected  most  of  the  bolts  which  bound 
the  cylinder  to  its  bed. 

As  the  steamer  fell  off  in  the  hollow  of  the  sea,  she 
rolled,  and  at  the  third  roll  the  half -ton  of  metal 
toppled  over,  crashed  down  through  the  bottom  of 
the  ship,  and  sought  the  company  of  the  screw.  She 
was  a  compartmentless  steamer,  and  in  half  an  hour 
had  followed,  leaving  her  crew  afloat  in  boats  and  on 
life-rafts.  Scotty  found  himself  in  the  boat  with  the 
captain,  and  wisely  anticipating  rebuke,  had  brought 
his  shovel.  The  captain  glared  unspeakable  things 
at  him. 

"  It'll  do  ye  no  good  the  noo,  cappen,"  said  Scotty, 
anticipating  the  captain's  outburst.  "And  if  you, 
or  a  man  o'  your  crew,  lay  the  weight  o'  your  finger 
upon  me,  I'll  brain  ye  wi'  my  staff  of  office" — he 
elevated  the  shovel.  "I  warned  ye  in  time;  ye 
should  ha'  heeded  me." 

"Put  down  your  shovel,  and  take  an  oar,"  com 
manded  the  captain.  "  I'd  shoot  you  dead  if  it 
wasn't  for  the  law.  But  you'll  get  out  o'  this  boat, 
onto  the  first  craft  we  meet — bound  in  or  bound  out.'* 

16 


The   Dollar 

"  It'll  be  bound  out,  cappen,"  said  Scotty,  gravely. 
"  Ha'  no  fear  o'  that." 

It  was  an  Italian  bark,  and  as  Scotty  had  predict 
ed,  she  was  bound  out — to  Rio  Janeiro,  as  Scotty 
learned  later.  When  the  flotilla  of  boats  swarmed 
into  her  path,  she  backed  her  main  yards  with  much 
chattering  and  yelling  of  her  crew,  and  Scotty's  boat 
approached  her  side,  where  a  Jacob 's-ladder  hung  in 
vitingly. 

"Get  up  there,  you  miserable  Sawnee,"  said  the 
skipper.  "  I  wouldn't  put  you  aboard  a  white  man's 
vessel,  for  you'll  wreck  her  as  you  did  mine." 

It  is  very  impolite,  and  sometimes  inexpedient,  to 
call  a  Scot  a  Sawnee. 

Scotty  climbed  the  ladder  with  his  shovel,  and 
when  he  stood  upon  the  rail,  turned  and  let  it  fly 
towards  the  captain  in  the  stern -sheets.  Had  it 
struck  edge  first  it  would  have  cut  him  in  two ;  as  it 
happened,  the  handle  merely  flattened  his  nose.  The 
captain  sank  down,  then,  rising,  fired  a  revolver  at 
Scotty,  but  missed,  and  forthwith  ordered  his  men 
to  give  way. 

And  then,  amid  the  excited  cries  and  orders  of  the 
Italian  captain,  Scotty  was  pulled  down  from  the 
rail,  mobbed  around  the  deck  a  little — though  he 
fought  furiously — by  the  three  mates  of  the  bark, 
and  bundled  into  a  hatch- house.  And  long  after  he 
was  locked  in  he  could  hear  the  excited  and  puzzled 
accents  of  the  Italian  captain,  calling  to  the  mis 
guided  castaways,  who  would  not  be  rescued;  then 

17 


Land   Ho! 

he  heard  the  yards  braced,  and  knew  that  he  was 
homeward  bound. 

"  If  the  bloody  hooker  don't  sink  on  the  way,"  he 
growled.  "  Howe'er,  I'll  no  revile  the  craft  that  car 
ries  me,  for  it's  lang  odds  she  gits  the  warst  o'  it." 

Shipboard  etiquette  is  international.  Scott y,  in 
throwing  the  shovel,  had  violated  the  strictest  clause 
in  the  code,  and  the  Italian  captain,  though  under 
standing  nothing  of  the  circumstances,  had  sensed 
the  enormity  of  his  offence,  and  punished  him.  But 
he  was  not  confined  long;  the  door  was  soon  opened, 
and  from  the  jabbering  and  gestures  of  the  three 
mates  he  understood  that  he  was  to  go  forward. 
He  went,  and  with  a  bucket  of  salt  water  and  a  piece 
of  old  canvas  so  improved  his  personal  appearance 
as  to  partly  overrule  the  prejudice  against  him. 

Seamanship,  like  nautical  etiquette,  is  interna 
tional,  and  though  he  understood  not  one  word  of 
what  was  said  to  him,  and  though  not  a  man  aboard 
understood  him,  yet  he  knew  what  to  do  without 
orders,  and  soon  proved  himself  superior  to  any  of 
the  officers.  The  rather  impulsive,  but  generous, 
captain  noticed  this,  and  made  as  much  of  him  as 
was  possible  without  a  common  means  of  communica 
tion  ;  but  Scotty  ascribed  it  to  the  influence  of  the  un 
blessed,  but  jealously  guarded,  leather  pendant  often 
visible  on  his  hairy  chest.  He  made  the  most  of  this 
influence  among  the  men  forward,  and  even  went 
to  the  blasphemous  extent  of  making  the  sign  of  the 
cross  on  occasions,  and  repeating  certain  words, 

18 


The   Dollar 

picked  up  from  his  devout  shipmates,  of  the  Roman 
Catholic  ritual.  But  when  he  prayed,  alone  and  in 
the  silence  of  the  night,  he  prayed  for  forgiveness,  for 
the  removal  of  the  curse,  for  opportunity  to  redeem 
himself — for  the  test  of  a  ten-mile  swim  or  a  thou 
sand-mile  walk,  to  the  end  that  he  might  place  that 
stolen  dollar  in  the  hand  of  Captain  Bolt. 

But  his  prayers  availed  not.  He  became  a  man 
without  a  country.  The  Italian  bark  caught  fire  in 
the  South  Atlantic,  and  in  the  confusion  of  aban 
doning  the  charred  and  sinking  hulk,  Scotty  found 
himself  alone  in  a  small  quarter-boat,  which,  like 
himself,  had  been  left  behind,  and  which  he  had 
lowered  and  unhooked  unaided.  But  he  had  been 
unable  to  find  the  oars,  and  the  other  boats  were  far 
away ;  so  he  spent  seven  days  and  nights  in  the  cockle 
shell,  freezing  by  night,  roasting  by  day,  with  the 
horrors  of  hunger  and  thirst  for  company,  and  was 
then  rescued  in  a  delirious  state  of  mind  by  a  Nor 
wegian  barkentine,  bound  for  Cape  Town. 

There  is  no  need  of  recounting  his  further  ad 
ventures  in  detail.  He  had  now  been  a  year  without 
touching  land,  and  he  spent  four  more  at  sea  before 
there  came  to  him  even  a  gleam  of  hope.  No  matter 
what  the  craft,  or  what  the  port  bound  for,  some 
thing  occurred  to  destroy  the  ship  or  prevent  him 
finishing  the  passage.  At  times,  when  an  alleged 
advance  of  pay  was  worked  off,  he  drew  clothing 
from  the  ship's  slop  chest,  and  always  left  it  behind 
when  the  curse  closed  down  upon  him  and  removed 

3  19 


Land   Ho! 

him  from  that  ship.  Once  he  was  abandoned  with 
a  boy,  third  mate,  and  three  others  on  a  derelict 
which  they  had  been  sent  to  inspect,  and  from  the 
neighborhood  of  which  a  furious  gale  drove  their  own 
vessel.  They  were  rescued  just  before  the  derelict 
sank.  Again,  in  Manila  Bay,  he  swam  to  a  near-by 
ship  which  he  had  heard  was  bound  to  New  York, 
and  secreted  himself,  only  to  find  when  at  sea  that 
she  was  bound  for  Liverpool.  He  made  the  stormy 
passage  of  the  Horn  in  midwinter  with  the  clothing 
he  stood  in. 

Too  eager  to  touch  dry  land  at  Liverpool,  he  quit 
the  ship  in  a  runner's  boat  before  docking,  and  the 
boat  getting  in  the  way  of  an  outbound  ocean-tug, 
he  went  to  sea  on  the  tug,  and  was  again  put  aboard 
the  first  craft  met,  an  English  four-master,  bound  for 
Calcutta.  And  it  was  in  this  ship  that  there  came 
to  him  the  gleam  of  hope  mentioned.  In  her  fore 
castle  he  found  the  quondam  third  mate  of  the  big 
skysail-yarder,  the  Mr.  Smart  who,  backed  by  the 
law,  had  thrashed  him  on  the  forecastle  deck  and 
later  arranged  his  transfer  to  the  tramp. 

Scotty  had  long  since  forgiven  him,  regarding  him 
as  but  an  instrument  of  the  Lord.  But  the  in 
strument,  down  on  his  luck  and  'fore-the-mast  in  a 
"lime -juicer,"  must  needs  refer  to  it,  again  and 
again,  until  the  sorely  tried  man  gave  way.  Then 
occurred  one  of  the  shortest  and  fiercest  fights  that 
ever  delighted  the  souls  of  English  sailors.  Scotty 
did  the  fighting,  and  he  struck  out  twice;  but  each 

20 


The   Dollar 

blow  was  like  the  kick  of  a  mule,  and  Smart  was 
carried  aft  to  have  his  broken  ribs  and  jawbone  reset, 
while  Scotty  went  in  irons  for  murderous  assault ;  but 
the  captain  released  him  on  learning  that  the  war 
began  in  an  American  ship.  There  was  no  further 
trouble  between  these  two,  but  Scotty  drew  comfort 
and  hope  from  the  incident  because  it  seemed  his 
first  victory  over  the  forces  that  opposed  him. 

Cholera  was  rampant  in  Calcutta,  and  not  a  man 
but  the  skipper  left  the  ship  while  there;  then  she 
sailed  for  New  York,  and  Scotty 's  hope  increased.  He 
carefully  guarded  the  black  and  grimy  talisman  of 
evil  that  hung  to  his  neck,  and  prayed  fervently  for 
the  final  test  that  would  redeem  him;  and  he  prayed, 
too — for  his  great  trouble  had  softened  and  spirit 
ualized  him — that  this  big  ship  and  large  company 
should  not  suffer  disaster  on  his  account. 

But  as  the  ship  reached  soundings  it  seemed  that 
the  prayer  was  to  be  unanswered;  for  she  came 
driving  up  to  the  light-ship  before  a  southerly  gale 
and  sea  that  prevented  any  sail  holding  but  the 
foresail  and  three  lower  topsails.  All  lighter  canvas 
was  blown  away — and  lower  topsails  and  a  lee  shore 
are  a  bad  combination. 

The  captain  could  not  conceal  his  anxiety;  there 
had  been  no  sign  of  a  pilot,  and  though  the  holding 
ground  was  good,  his  anchors  were  small — too  small 
for  his  big  ship.  To  add  to  the  danger,  the  spume 
and  spin-drift  from  the  combers  were  thickened  by  a 
mist  that  seemed  to  descend  from  above,  blotting  out 

•I 


Land   Ho! 

the  distant  light-ship.  But  this  mist  was  ahead; 
astern,  the  horizon  was  visible,  and  far  this  side  of  the 
horizon — not  half  a  mile  on  the  port  quarter — was 
a  sight  that  sent  the  blood  coursing  through  poor 
Scotty's  veins,  and  a  prayer  of  thanksgiving  to  his 
lips. 

Coming  along  before  the  storm,  but  on  a  conver 
gent  course  which  would  soon  bring  her  in  the  big 
ship's  wake,  was  the  steamer  Proserpine  towing  her 
barges.  Scotty  knew  them;  every  detail  was  pict 
ured  on  his  brain.  He  knew  that  big  funnel,  and  big 
nigger- head  in  the  bow ;  he  knew  the  stump  bowsprit 
of  the  Champion,  with  its  one-chain  bobstay ;  and  he 
knew  the  Anita  behind  her,  straight -stemmed,  black 
and  dingy. 

And  as  he  looked  there  came  to  him  the  conviction 
that  here  was  the  test  required  of  him — that  if  he,  the 
Jonah  of  many  ships,  should  remain  where  he  was, 
there  would  be  one  more  catastrophe  on  the  list, 
while  some  manoeuvring  of  fate  would  again  send 
him  to  sea ;  but  that  if  he  rid  the  ship  of  his  presence, 
there  was  a  chance,  not  only  for  the  ship,  but  for 
himself. 

Mounting  the  forecastle  deck — where  he  had  a 
right  to  be — he  watched  and  waited  until  the  three 
crafts  astern  were  as  one  in  the  wake ;  then,  shedding 
his  oilskins  and  boots,  he  sprang  overboard.  He 
heard  the  shouts  of  a  shipmate,  and  as  he  came  to  the 
surface,  saw  men  on  the  rail,  looking  and  waving. 
He  saw  the  second  mate  heave  over  a  life-buoy,  but 

23 


The  Dollar 

it  fell  short,  and  he  did  not  swim  for  it.  The  ship 
went  on,  for  a  square-rigged  craft  may  not  round  to 
in  a  gale. 

Scotty  swam  shoreward  at  first,  for  he  knew  that 
the  steamer  and  tow  would  make  leeway.  On  the 
tops  of  the  seas  he  took  his  bearings,  and  then  swam, 
or  paddled,  according  to  the  inclination  of  the  steam 
er's  bow.  In  the  hollows  he  swam  towards  her. 
Nearer  and  nearer  she  came,  and  at  last  he  began 
hailing;  but  not  a  man  could  be  seen  on  her  deck, 
and  the  bridge  was  empty;  the  captain  or  mate  on 
duty  was  in  the  warm  pilot-house,  no  doubt — after 
the  manner  of  tug-men.  Hailing  frantically,  he  met 
the  wash  of  her  bow  wave  and  went  under ;  when  he 
came  up  she  was  past  him,  with  her  white-painted 
name  staring  at  him.  No  one  had  seen  or  heard  him. 

The  Champion  was  coming,  and  he  swam  into  her 
path,  barely  missing  a  clutch  at  the  steel  towline 
whizzing  past  him.  He  hailed  her,  but  there  was  no 
response.  How  could  they  hear,  in  the  teeth  of  that 
furious  wind?  Realizing  this,  he  saved  his  breath. 

The  barge,  rolling  along  before  the  sea,  was  mak 
ing  good  weather  of  it,  yet  she  lifted  and  plunged 
heavily  as  the  big  billows  passed  beneath  her — the 
chain  bobstay  often  rising  six  feet  out  of  water,  and 
again  sinking  as  far  below.  To  catch  this  chain  was 
all  that  he  could  hope  for ;  to  miss  it  meant  death ;  for 
even  should  he  be  seen  or  heard  as  he  passed  astern, 
no  power  on  earth  could  bring  that  tug  back  to  wind 
ward  in  such  a  sea. 

23 


Land   Ho! 

When  but  twenty  feet  away  from  him  the  bow 
lifted,  dripping  water  from  the  hawse-pipes — and 
to  the  agonized  man  beneath  it  this  bow  and  dripping 
hawse-pipes  bore  a  harrowing  resemblance  to  a  large, 
implacable,  yet  weeping  face,  a  face  that  expressed 
sorrow  and  condemnation — then  it  fell  upon  him, 
and  the  heavy  iron  chain  struck  his  head,  then 
glanced  to  his  shoulder  and  bore  him  under.  But 
the  downward  blow  gave  him  his  grip  upon  it ;  had 
it  struck  him  while  lifting,  he  might  not  have 
held. 

Clinging  for  dear  life,  unable  to  move  himself  an 
inch  against  the  rush  of  water,  with  head  swimming 
from  the  impact  of  the  chain,  and  lungs  bursting 
from  lack  of  air,  he  waited  for  the  rise,  and  when  it 
came,  moved  upward  a  foot.  Then  he  was  borne 
under  again,  this  time  with  his  lungs  full  of  air,  and 
he  suffered  less ;  and  when  he  was  lifted  out,  he  gained 
another  foot. 

Four  times  he  was  plunged  under  before  he  had 
climbed  high  enough  to  avoid  it,  and  then  he  rested, 
until  his  head  cleared  and  the  awful  pain  of  fatigue 
left  his  arms.  When  strength  came  back  he  mount 
ed  to  the  bowsprit,  crept  in  to  the  topgallant  fore 
castle,  and  sprang  down  on  the  main-deck,  to  the 
consternation  of  two  men  at  the  weather  fore-rigging. 
These  were  foremast  hands,  and  Scotty  had  no  pres 
ent  use  for  them.  He  ran  past  them  in  his  stocking- 
feet — and  they  gave  room  to  the  wild -eyed  ap 
parition — and  aft  to  the  poop,  where,  besides  the 

24 


The    Dollar 

helmsman,  was  a  man  who  might  be  captain  or  mate, 
but  who  could  certainly  inform  him. 

"  Is  Cappen  Bolt  in  charge  o'  the  Anita  the  noo?" 
he  asked,  hoarsely,  as  he  halted  before  him. 

"Yes.  Who  the  devil  are  you?"  asked  the  as 
tounded  man. 

"God  be  thankit!"  exclaimed  Scotty,  and  he 
mounted  the  taffrail — not  for  a  swim  this  time, 
there  was  no  need  of  it.  Stretching  back  to  the 
Anita  was  a  steel  trolley,  which  was  all  he  wanted. 
Before  the  man  could  do  more  than  yell  at  him, 
Scotty  had  hitched  himself  out  on  the  towline  be 
yond  reach;  then,  for  faster  progress,  he  swung  be 
neath  it,  head  aft  and  downward,  and  in  this  posi 
tion,  hand  over  hand  and  leg  over  leg,  he  made  his 
way  along  until  the  water  took  him.  Filling  his 
lungs  with  air  and  locking  arms  and  legs  around  the 
rope,  he  let  himself  go ;  and  he  slid  at  the  speed  of  the 
tug  down  the  trolley  and  up  again,  traversing  half 
of  the  length  of  the  towline  beneath  the  surface. 

He  was  nearly  dead  and  fully  blind  when  he  felt 
air  on  his  face,  and  had  only  time  to  take  a  breath 
when  a  following  sea  immersed  him  again.  But  with 
another  breath,  he  began  to  climb. 

Captain  Bolt,  aft  on  the  poop,  saw  men  on  the 
Champion  waving  arms  and  pointing  a  megaphone 
his  way.  He  could  not  hear,  nor  could  he  hope  to 
from  the  bow,  yet  he  ran  forward.  As  he  reached 
the  forecastle  steps,  an  unkempt  figure  came  in  over 
the  bow — a  big,  rawboned  man  in  dripping  rags, 

25 


Land   Ho! 

with  blood  streaming  from  arms  and  legs,  with  a 
red,  round,  and  sorrowful  face  bordered  by  long, 
matted,  gray  hair — with  the  gleam  of  incipient  in 
sanity  in  the  eyes.  He  sprang  off  the  forecastle  and 
faced  the  captain. 

"Cappen  Bolt,"  he  stammered,  as  he  tore  at  a 
small  leather  bag  with  fingers  and  teeth.  "Cappen 
— cappen — here  it  is.  I've  fetched  it  t'  ye.  I  never 
spent  it."  From  the  bag  came  a  stained  and  oxi 
dized  coin,  which  he  forced  into  the  amazed  cap 
tain's  hand.  Then,  sinking  to  his  knees,  he  lifted 
his  eyes  to  heaven,  muttered  a  few  inarticulate  words, 
and  fell  over  in  a  swoon. 

"Here!"  called  the  captain,  sharply,  to  two  of  his 
men  who  had  drawn  near.  "Take  him  below  and 
strip  him.  Put  him  to  bed,  and  I'll  get  some  brandy. 
Lord  knows  who  he  is,  or  where  he  came  from,  but 
he's  in  a  bad  way." 

Scotty  was  carried  down  the  forecastle  stairs  and 
cared  for ;  but  he  did  not  waken  to  drink  the  captain's 
brandy ;  the  swoon  took  on  the  form  of  childlike  sleep, 
and  the  sleep  continued  until  the  barges  had  made 
port  and  moored  to  the  dock.  Here,  amid  the  con 
fusion  of  making  fast,  opening  hatches,  and  rigging 
cargo  gear,  Captain  Bolt  had  about  forgotten  the 
mysterious  stranger  in  his  forecastle,  and  was  only 
reminded  of  him  when  the  captain  of  the  Champion 
came  aboard  to  inquire. 

"  He  climbed  up  my  bobstays,  no  doubt ;  he  must 
have  fallen  overboard  from  that  big  Englishman 

26 


The   Dollar 

that  anchored  in  the  Horseshoe.  Went  crazy  in  the 
water,  I  suppose.  He  went  out  on  your  towline  like 
a.  monkey.  I  wouldn't  ha'  believed  a  man  could 
stand  it.  He  was  three  minutes  under  water." 

"I  can't  make  it  out,"  said  Captain  Bolt.  "He 
put  this  in  my  hand" — he  held  out  the  blackened 
dollar — "and  then  went  daffy.  He's  down  below 
now.  No,  here  he  comes." 

Scotty  had  climbed  to  the  deck.  He  stood  near 
the  hatch,  looking  about  with  a  doubtful,  bewildered 
air  at  the  docks  and  shipping.  Then  his  face  cleared 
a  little,  and  like  a  cat  in  a  strange  street  he  moved 
slowly  and  hesitatingly  along  the  rail  towards  the 
fore  rigging.  Then  with  one  bound  he  swung  him 
self  to  the  top  of  the  rail,  and  a  mighty  upward 
jump  landed  him  on  the  string-piece  of  the  dock. 
Here  he  paused  long  enough  to  sink  to  his  knees  and 
elevate  his  clasped  hands ;  then  he  rose,  walked  hur 
riedly,  and,  breaking  into  a  run,  disappeared  from  sight 
behind  the  crowd  of  horses  and  trucks  on  the  dock. 

"  By  the  Lord,"  exclaimed  Captain  Bolt,  "  I  know 
him!  It's  Scotty.  I  lost  him  overboard  off  the 
Delaware  capes  five  years  ago.  How'd  he  get  pick 
ed  up,  I  wonder?  Where's  he  been?  And  this — " 
he  produced  the  dollar.  "  I  wonder  if — why,  very 
likely — a  Scotchman  has  a  conscience.  Say,  cappen, 
this  seems  funny.  I  put  up  a  job  on  Scotty.  I  pre 
tended  to  lose  a  dollar  to  see  if  he'd  keep  it,  and  he  did. 
And  I'll  bet  this  is  the  one."  He  opened  his  knife  and 
cut  into  the  dingy  coin.  "  Yes,  it  was  a  counterfeit." 

27 


The    Ship-Owner 


WEARY  of  world-wandering,  Scotty  had  shipped 
in  the  tow-barge  Champion — tow-barges  are 
never  far  from  port  —  and  sat  in  the  dusk  of  a 
September  evening  on  the  forecastle-deck,  smoking 
his  pipe  and  watching  the  black  clouds  banking  up 
in  the  northwest,  over  the  hills  of  Staten  Island.  The 
craft  was  at  anchor  off  Tompkinsville ;  and  as  the 
skipper,  mate,  and  the  rest  of  the  men  lived  in  this 
town,  and  as  the  steamer,  or,  more  properly,  tug, 
which  towed  the  Champion  and  her  consort,  had 
reached  the  dock  too  late  to  coal  up  that  night,  they 
had  gone  ashore  to  their  families  and  friends,  leaving 
Scotty  in  charge. 

With  him  on  board,  however,  was  the  owner,  who, 
to  save  railway  fare,  was  to  make  the  trip  to  Phila 
delphia  in  the  Champion,  and  who  fretted  exceed 
ingly  at  the  delay.  As  Scotty  smoked  and  watched, 
this  individual  climbed  the  forecastle-steps.  He  had 
a  very  prominent  nose,  large  ears  and  mouth,  and 
called  himself  Mr.  Jacob  Steiner. 

"How  is  it,"  he  asked,  sourly,  "that  you're  not 
ashore,  too?" 

28 


The   Ship-Owner 

Scotty  rose  to  his  full  height  of  six  feet  two,  and 
looked  down  on  him  serenely.  To  Scotty  had  come 
the  sorrowful  yet  resolute  stare  of  the  middle-aged 
sailor — the  man  who  has  often  looked  fate  in  the 
eyes — and  he  was  not  afraid  of  this  ship-owner. 

"  I've  no  call  to  go,  Mr.  Steiner,"  he  said,  gravely. 
"  My  folk  are  over  the  water." 

"All  the  better  for  you.  Your  money  is  for 
yourself." 

"Ay,  what  there  is  of  it,  sir  —  and  that's  little 
enough." 

"Are  you  kicking  about  your  pay?  Don't  you 
get  all  you're  worth?" 

"Mair  than  I'm  warth,  possibly.  I'm  no  kickin' 
only  on  general  principles.  A  sailorman  is  paid 
vera  little  for  the  wark  he  performs.  Barrin'  a  rare 
chance  o'  salvage,  he  never  gets  mair  than  a  day's 
pay  for  a  day's  wark." 

"  Salvage !"  snapped  Mr.  Steiner.  "A  direct  gouge 
of  a  ship-owner — a  robbery,  pure  and  simple.  If 
officers  and  crews  were  not  cowardly  and  inefficient 
there  would  be  nothing  to  salve." 

"  Ay,  but  if  they  were  all  cowardly  and  ineffeecient 
there  would  be  no  salving  done,  sir." 

"Makes  no  difference,"  said  the  owner,  peevishly; 
then,  recurring  to  a  former  line  of  thought,  he  said: 
"You  say  you're  not  kicking?  What's  this  talk 
about  the  grub?  The  captain  says  you're  dissatis 
fied." 

"I've  heard  complaints,  sir;  but  I'm  no  kickin'. 

29 


Land   Mo! 

I've  sailed  too  long  deep  water  to  take  exceeption 
to  a  little  thing  like  grub." 

"But  the  rest  are." 

"Ay,  they're  not  accustomed  to  maggots.  And, 
take  my  ward,  sir,  maggots  are  not  nourishin',  unless 
cooked.  We  get  ours  raw. " 

Again  the  owner  changed  the  subject.  "That  a 
storm  brewing  over  there?"  he  asked,  pointing 
shoreward. 

"  It'll  be  a  squall,  I'm  thinkin',"  answered  Scotty, 
"and,  perhaps,  mair  than  a  squall.  We're  on  the 
eve  of  an  eequinoctial,  and  I'm  in  doot,  to  be  frank 
wi'  you,  about  the  holdin'  ground  beneath." 

"Why,  aren't  we  safe — here  at  anchor?"  asked 
Mr.  Steiner,  in  some  alarm. 

"Safe  enough,  provided  we  don't  drag.  We're 
ridin'  to  the  small  anchor,  and  the  ebb  runs  strong 
the  neeght." 

"Then  why  not  drop  the  other?" 

"  It's  a  big  job,  sir — a  job  for  all  hands,  and  they're 
ashore.  It's  no  shackled  on." 

"A  job  for  all  hands?"  answered  the  owner, 
ignoring  the  last  of  Scotty 's  remarks.  "  Nonsense. 
It's  a  one  man's  job  to  drop  anchor.  I've  seen  it 
done.  I  can  do  it  myself ." 

"Ay,  that  you  might,  sir;  but  can  you  lift  a  foot- 
link  chain  up  to  the  ring  o'  the  anchor  ?  Did  you  no' 
see  all  hands  liftin'  that  chain  to  the  dock  when  we 
moored  wi'  it?" 

"What's  that  got  to  do  with  dropping  anchor?" 

30 


The   Ship-Owner 

"Conseederable,  sir;  but  I'm  no'  creeticising  my 
superiors.  If  you'll  tarn  to  and  help,  we  may  get 
it  done  in  time." 

The  owner  looked  closely  into  Scotty's  face,  and 
might  have  asked  further  concerning  anchors  and 
chains ;  but  a  faint  and  exasperating  smile  had  come 
to  it,  and  he  turned  to  the  steps.  "You  are  an 
alarmist,  and  I'm  going  to  bed,"  he  said,  sharply. 
"  If  we  need  that  other  anchor  down,  drop  it."  Then 
he  went  down  the  steps. 

Scotty  watched  him  disappear  in  the  darkness, 
and  shook  his  head  sadly;  then  he  looked  over  the 
bow  at  the  few  links  of  chain  hanging  from  the  hawse- 
pipe,  and  shook  it  again,  with  a  different  meaning. 
They  were  not  foot  links  as  he  had  said;  but  they 
were  fully  nine  inches  in  length,  each  a  heavy  lift  for 
a  man's  hands,  and  there  would  be  about  fifteen  in 
the  air  when  the  end  was  up  to  the  anchor  ring.  He 
had  spoken  truly  when  he  had  called  it  a  job  for  all 
hands. 

The  barge  carried  a  patent  windlass,  and  the  squall 
found  him  with  his  hands  on  the  lever.  Pelted  by 
the  horizontal  bombardment  of  wind  and  rain  on  the 
high  forecastle-deck,  he  paid  out  the  last  fathom  of 
the  small  chain,  and  then  went  down  and  stood  near 
the  windlass  until  the  jarring  vibrations  coming 
along  the  chain  told  him  that  the  anchor  was  drag 
ging.  He  bounded  up  the  steps  and  looked;  the 
shore  lights  were  hidden  by  the  smudge,  but  right 
astern,  twinkling  faintly  and  visibly  nearer,  was  the 


Land   Ho! 

riding-light  of  the  consort  Anita,  whose  anchor  was 
evidently  holding. 

Scotty  grasped  the  situation  in  an  instant.  A 
collision  at  the  end  of  chain-cables  would  sink  both 
barges.  One  must  slip,  and  this  being  so,  it  had  best 
be  the  Champion ;  for  the  Anita  was  new  and  more 
valuable,  and  in  no  immediate  danger  of  dragging, 
while  the  Champion  was  practically  adrift,  and  not 
to  be  stopped  by  anything  but  steam-power,  or  that 
other  anchor.  Securing  a  lantern,  he  descended  into 
the  chain  -  locker  and  disconnected  the  end  of  the 
chain;  then  he  came  up,  cast  off  the  gaskets  and 
down-haul  of  the  jib,  trimmed  the  sheet  down  to 
port,  and  was  taking  in  the  slack  of  the  halyards  as 
the  sail  blew  up,  when  the  owner  struggled  forward 
to  him  in  the  darkness. 

"Just  in  time,"  roared  Scotty,  in  his  ear.  " Lend 
a  hand  on  these  hal'ards.  I'm  slippin'  the  chain  to 
wark  clear  o'  the  Anita." 

"What's  the  matter?  What  are  you  doing?" 
screamed  the  owner,  in  reply. 

"  Lend  a  hand,  and  don't  talk." 

They  pulled  the  thrashing  sail  nearly  up — which 
was  enough.  Then,  ordering  the  owner  to  light  the 
side-lights  in  the  lamp-room,  and  bring  them  aft  to 
the  screens  on  the  quarter,  Scotty  bounded  up  to  the 
windlass  lever,  unhooked  and  lifted  it,  and,  when  the 
end  of  the  chain  had  flown  out  the  hawse-pipe  in  a 
shower  of  sparks,  watched  the  barge,  under  the  push 
of  the  backed  jib,  turn  her  head  slowly  away  from  the 

32 


The    Ship-Owner 

wind.  When  the  blast  came  from  abeam  he  made 
fast  the  lee  sheet,  let  fly  the  weather,  and  sped  aft  to 
the  wheeling,  bawling,  as  he  passed  the  lamp-room, 
to  "  bear  a  hand  wi'  the  leeghts."  The  binnacle  was 
dark,  and  he  could  only  surmise  from  the  known 
direction  of  the  wind  as  to  how  the  barge  was  head 
ing;  but  as  he  took  the  wheel,  he  saw,  looming  high 
and  near  over  the  starboard  quarter,  the  riding-light 
of  the  Anita,  and  then  saw  the  dim  loom  of  the  hull 
as  it  passed  across  the  stern.  He  had  slipped  just  in 
time. 

He  brought  the  wind  on  the  starboard  quarter  and 
waited  for  the  owner.  When  he  came,  struggling 
painfully  with  the  two  heavy  side-lights,  he  forcefully 
instructed  him  in  the  method  of  securing  them  in 
place,  and  then  ordered  him  to  take  the  binnacle- 
lamps  into  the  cabin  and  light  them.  Mr.  Steiner 
obeyed  uncomplainingly ;  but  when  there  was  light 
on  the  compass,  and  Scotty  had  steadied  the  craft  at 
south-southeast,  he  put  his  mouth  to  the  big  sailor's 
ear,  and  shouted:  "What  are  you  doing  with  my 
vessel  ?  Where  are  you  going  ? ' ' 

"As  I  informed  ye,  I  slipped  the  chain,"  answered 
Scotty,  in  a  voice  louder  than  the  storm.  "  Had  ye 
gi'en  me  a  hand  wi'  the  big  chain  as  I  requested,  there 
wad  na  been  need  o'  slippin' ;  and  there's  na  time  the 
noo.  We're  goin'  into  deep  water,  and  even  the 
big  anchor  wad  na  nold  again  our  drift  and  the 
strong  ebb-teed.  I'll  pick  up  Coney  Island  Leeght 
soon,  and  beach  her  on  the  sands. 

33 


Land   Ho! 

"  Why  didn't  you  drop  the  other  anchor,  as  I  told 
you?"  screamed  the  owner,  dancing  up  and  down  in 
his  rage  and  fear.  "You're  a  mutinous  scoundrel. 
I  know  your  game.  You're  plotting  against  my  in 
terest.  I'll  have  you  in  jail  for  this!  You're  work 
ing  up  a  salvage  job — that's  what  you're  doing." 

"  Will  ye  please  stand  awa'  from  the  binnacle  so  I 
can  see?"  roared  Scotty. 

Mr.  Steiner  obeyed  this  reasonable  command — for, 
in  spite  of  the  word  please,  it  was  not  a  request ;  and 
he  even  did  more — he  rid  Scotty  of  his  presence,  dart 
ing  forward  along  the  alley  and  down  the  poop-steps. 
Soon  Scotty  felt  a  shock  along  the  deck. 

"Damn  the  poor,  misguided  fule!"  he  grunted. 
"  He's  let  go  the  big  anchor  wi'  no  string  on  it.  I've 
heard  o'  the  like,  but  never  believed  it.  Lord  help 
him,  for  the  de'il  can't  the  neeght." 

He  steered  on — the  course  down  the  Narrows — 
occasionally  lifting  his  eyes  from  the  compass  to 
search  the  shortened  aspect  for  Coney  Island  Light. 
The  first  fury  of  the  squall  had  now  passed,  but  there 
was  a  steady,  insistent  pressure  to  the  wind  that 
promised  continuance,  and  a  vicious  tumble  of  short 
sea  rising,  which  was  small  index  of  what  might  be 
expected  outside.  But  the  air  was  not  so  thick; 
soon  he  made  out  a  few  landmarks,  the  lights  of  pass 
ing  or  drifting  craft,  Fort  Tompkins's  red-and-white 
light  well  astern,  and  finally  the  one  he  was  looking 
for — the  flashing  red  light  on  Norton's  Point,  Coney 
Island.  It  bore  two  points  away  on  the  weather,  or 

34 


The   Ship-Owner 

port  bow,  and  he  knew,  as  he  looked,  that  he  could 
not  make  it,  even  with  all  the  sail  the  barge  could 
carry.  This  was  not  much;  she  had  once  been  a 
square-rigged  ship,  and  still  carried  her  three  lower 
masts  with  tops,  trestle- trees,  and  caps  intact — and 
her  bowsprit.  From  the  foremast  head  to  the  end  of 
this  bowsprit  ran  a  makeshift  -  stay,  to  which  was 
hung  the  jib  mentioned,  and  on  each  lower  mast  was 
bent  a  mutton-leg  sail. 

Excepting  the  mizzen,  or  spanker — a  brand-new 
purchase  —  these  sails  were  old,  so  old  and  soft 
that  if  set,  and  the  barge  hauled  on  the  wind,  they 
would  assuredly  go  to  pieces. 

Yet  with  this  knowledge  in  his  head,  Scotty,  with 
a  deep,  dark  scheme,  worthy  of  a  Scotchman,  also  in 
his  head,  headed  the  barge  straight  up  for  Norton's 
Point  Light,  and,  even  as  the  rotten  jib  blew  from 
the  bolt  ropes,  called  to  the  owner,  whom  he  saw, 
indistinctly,  struggling  aft  by  the  lee -alley.  Mr. 
Steiner  came  near  him. 

11 1  think  it  best,  Mr.  Steiner,"  he  said — and  there 
was  much  of  request  and  nothing  of  command  in  his 
tone  now — "that  you  loose  the  three  sails — just 
cast  off  the  brails,  one  sail  at  a  time,  and  1*11  jump 
and  help  you  trim  aft  the  sheet." 

"What  for?"  demanded  the  owner. 

"So  we  can  make  Coney  Island  and  beach  her, 
sir.  We're  far  to  leeward." 

"  You  will  not  beach  my  vessel.  I  forbid  you.  I 
know  your  mind,  you  scoundrel.  You  did  not  tell 
<  35 


Land   Ho! 

me  the  truth  about  that  anchor.  You  did  not  tell 
me  there  was  no  chain  attached.  Don't  you  dare 
attempt  to  wreck  this  barge!" 

"Ay,  ay,  sir,"  answered  Scotty,  mildly.  "Then 
we'll  let  her  drift,  and  I'll  get  into  dry  clothes  and 
oil-skins  for  the  time.  Fresh  water  is  vera  cauld  on 
the  skin,  Mr.  Steiner."  He  dropped  the  wheel,  use 
less  now  without  headway,  and  started  forward,  but 
turned  back  and  said:  "I'll  simply  say,  sir,  that  I 
informed  ye  in  time  that  the  chain  was  no  shackled 
on,  and  asked  your  assistance  at  the  job,  but  ye  re 
fused." 

"  You  did  not  tell  me  in  language  that  I  could  un 
derstand.  You  veiled  your  meaning,"  replied  the 
owner,  furiously. 

"  But  ye  understand  it  the  noo,  and  it's  the  same 
language.  If  this  barge  is  lost  it's  your  own  doing, 
Mr.  Steiner." 

He  went  to  the  forecastle,  got  into  dry  clothing  and 
oil-skins,  then  entered  the  mate's  room  in  the  cabin, 
and  entered,  in  a  much  neglected  log-book,  properly 
dated,  the  statement  that  the  owner  had  refused 
assistance  in  shackling  on  the  chain,  had  let  go  the 
anchor  without  consulting  him,  and  had  forbidden 
him  to  beach  the  barge  on  the  soft  and  safe  shore  of 
Coney  Island.  He  also  entered  his  own  good  rea 
sons  for  slipping  the  chain. 

"For  I'm  offeecially  in  charge  o'  the  craft,"  he 
chuckled,  "  and  it's  my  duty  to  keep  the  log,  which 
is  excellent  testimony  in  court." 

36 


The   Ship-Owncr 

But  he  said  nothing  of  the  silent  testimony  to  the 
owner,  nor  of  the  fact  that,  being  officially  in  charge, 
he  had  legal  power  to  overrule  his  passenger. 

He  found  this  anxious  man,  cowering  from  the 
storm  near  the  binnacle,  and  in  the  act  of  extinguish 
ing  one  of  the  binnacle-lights. 

"  I  see  no  occasion  for  this  waste  of  oil,"  he  snarled, 
"now  that  you're  not  steering." 

"Right  enough,  sir,"  answered  Scotty,  cheerfully. 
"  And  it  '11  be  well,  I'm  thinkin',  to  take  in  the  green- 
and-red  leeghts,  inasmuch  as  we're  no  under  com 
mand."  He  lifted  in  the  side-lights  and  stood  them 
on  deck.  "But  we'd  better  leave  'em  lit." 

"But  that  light  up  forward.     Take  that  down." 

"  No,  no,  Mr.  Steiner.  That's  the  lawful  leeght  to 
carry  when  under  way  and  no'  under  command." 

"We're  not  under  command?"  inquired  the  own 
er.  "Then  get  under  command.  What  are  you 
here  for?  Where  are  we  going  to?" 

"  I  take  it  we're  driftin'  broadside  right  into  the 
Swash  Channel — unless  we're  too  far  to  the  east; 
and  if  so,  we'll  fetch  up  on  the  East  Bank." 

"We  don't  want  to  fetch  up  on  anything.  Get 
this  vessel  under  way  at  once." 

"Ay,  ay,  sir;  then  will  ye  gi'  me  a  hand  to  set  the 
foresail?  It  '11  pull  her  head  off  'fore  the  wind  so  I 
can  steer." 

This  was  logical,  and  suited  both  of  them.  They 
set  the  small  triangle  of  sail,  after  a  fashion,  and  the 
barge  swung  off  before  the  wind ;  but  as  she  gathered 

37 


Land   Ho! 

way,  and  as  Scotty  took  the  wheel,  the  foresail  ripped 
from  top  to  bottom  and  in  ten  seconds  was  in  rib 
bons. 

"Well,"  shouted   Scotty  to   the   owner,    "I  can 
keep  her  'fore  the  wind  and  in  the  channel  till  the 


sea  comes." 


"What  then?"  asked  the  owner. 

"  We'll  have  to  drift,  or  heave  to  under  a  tarpaulin, 
wi'  this  wind.  That  is,  sir,  unless  ye '11  agree  to  my 
beachin'  her  on  Sandy  Hook.  I  might  make  the 
Hook  by  careful  steerin'." 

"No!"  yelled  Mr.  Steiner.  "I  will  not  have  my 
vessel  wrecked!" 

"Vera  good,  then.  Rig  the  two  leeghts  again. 
Mr.  Steiner,  and  I'll  keep  her  off  the  bottom,  as  you 
say." 

"Where  are  we  going  to  now?"  asked  the  owner, 
when  he  had  shipped  the  side-lights. 

"  Unless  I  lose  my  way,  sir,  right  oot  to  sea.  As 
ye'll  observe,  I'm  steerin'  the  course  doon  the 
channel — sou  '-sou  'east. " 

Mr.  Steiner  observed;  but,  as  he  could  not  read 
the  compass,  he  could  not  verify  the  statement. 

"See  that  you  don't  wreck  this  vessel,"  he  said, 
significantly. 

"  I  want  ye  to  remember,  Mr.  Steiner,"  said  Scotty, 
at  length,  "that  it  was  under  your  orders  to  get  this 
craft  under  command  that  we  lost  the  foresail." 

Mr.  Steiner  turned  his  back  to  him  and  went  down 
the  companion.  He  was  drenched  and  cold — in  no 

38 


The   Ship-Owner 

condition  to  argue  on  seamanly  ethics,  and  of  no  use 
on  deck  whatever,  as  he  must  have  realized.  Scotty, 
however,  with  an  even  better  knowledge  of  his  use- 
lessness,  made  loud  and  instant  protest  against  being 
left  alone,  but,  on  its  being  ignored,  lapsed  into  as 
cheerful  a  silence  as  the  conditions  would  admit. 

The  sea  was  rising,  and,  though  the  air  was  clearing 
of  rain,  showing  up  the  more  distant  lights,  the  wind 
was  unquestionably  increasing.  Fairly  comfortable 
in  his  warm  oil-skins,  and  smiling  a  deep,  dark,  Scotch 
smile  in  the  glow  from  the  binnacle,  Scotty  steered 
the  course  down  the  Swash  Channel,  but  it  was  not 
until  he  heard  faintly,  from  somewhere,  the  clang  of  a 
bell-buoy  that  he  was  sure  that  he  was  in  it.  Then 
he  brought  Romer  Shoal  Light  a  little  on  the  port 
bow,  went  past  it  in  a  flurry  of  a  squall,  and  soon 
picked  up  the  Scotland  Light-ship.  By  midnight  he 
had  left  this  behind  and  was  in  the  open  sea.  He 
had  obeyed  the  owner,  and  kept  her  off  the  bottom, 
but  only  to  drive  seaward  with  but  one  good  sail  on 
board,  and  this  in  the  wrong  end  of  her. 

There  were  a  few  things  on  his  mind  now  of  more 
importance  than  keeping  that  wallowing  barge  be 
fore  the  wind,  and  he  dropped  the  wheel,  letting  her 
broach  to  in  the  trough,  took  in  the  side-lights,  and 
went  to  the  mate's  room,  where  he  entered  in  the  log 
the  following  items:  That  the  owner  had  ordered 
him  to  get  the  craft  under  command,  which  had  re 
sulted  in  the  loss  of  the  foresail;  that  he  had  for 
bidden  him  to  beach  her  on  Sandy  Hook;  and  that 

39 


Land   Ho! 

he  had  gone  below,  leaving  him  alone  at  the  wheel, 
with  the  difficult  task  of  steering  without  forward 
canvas,  of  keeping  a  lookout,  and  of  navigating  from 
memory  alone  past  obstructing  shoals  and  rocks  to 
the  open  sea,  with  a  riding-light  up  forward,  which 
at  any  time,  while  under  way,  might  have  been  mis 
taken  for  the  masthead-light  of  a  steamer. 

The  barge  was  now  rolling  heavily  in  the  short  sea, 
and  seamanship  demanded  that  she  be  hove-to — 
that  is,  placed  under  short  after-canvas,  to  steady 
her;  and  as  this  was  a  job  for  more  than  one,  Scotty 
hunted  for  the  owner,  and  found  him  seated  in  the 
after-cabin  beside  a  bottle  and  a  glass.  His  face 
was  flushed  and  his  eye  glared  menacingly. 

"Will  ye  gi'  me  a  hand  on  deck,  Mr.  Steiner?" 
said  Scotty,  mildly.  "  I  want  to  set  the  spanker." 

"No,  I  won't, "  yelled  Mr.  Steiner,  thickly.  "You 
scheming  scoundrel,  I'll  be  a  party  to  none  o'  your 
tricks.  You've  put  my  property  in  jeopardy,  and 
I'll  put  you  in  jail  for  it,  remember  that!" 

"Ay,  all  in  good  time,  Mr.  Steiner,"  answered 
Scotty.  "  But  ye  won't  put  me  in  jail  'less  ye  get 
me  ashore,  and  you  won't  get  me  ashore  'less  ye  take 
better  care  o'  your  property.  She's  got  to  carry 
sail." 

" Get  out  o' this  cabin." 

"Ay,  I  will;  and  I'd  like  to  get  off  your  old  balla- 
hoo." 

Scotty  went  on  deck  in  a  very  natural  rage.  As 
he  could  not  set  the  spanker  alone,  he  did  the  next 

40 


The   Ship-Owner 

best  thing — rigged  a  tarpaulin  in  the  mizzen -rigging ; 
and  as  the  gale  showed  every  promise  of  increasing, 
and  lasting,  this  might  be  all  the  barge  would  re 
quire  to  hold  her  head  up  to  the  seas.  It  answered 
well,  as  the  wind  blew  then ;  and  when  he  had  again 
shipped  the  side-lights  and  taken  down  the  riding- 
light  forward — for  she  was  now  officially  under  com 
mand — he  took  the  bearings  of  Sandy  Hook  and 
Scotland  Lights,  pricked  a  point  of  departure  on  the 
mate's  chart,  and  entered  it  in  the  log,  with  the 
direction  of  the  wind  and  the  probable  drift  of  the 
barge.  Then  he  added  the  item  that  the  owner  was 
intoxicated,  and  had  refused  assistance  or  sanction 
in  making  sail 

There  were  plenty  of  craft  —  steam  and  sail  — 
passing  back  and  forth  at  distances  too  great  for  any 
communication  but  that  of  the  International  Signal 
Code,  which  the  barge  did  not  include  in  her  equip 
ment  ;  but,  as  it  was  no  part  of  Scotty's  plan  to  be 
towed  in,  the  lack  of  flags  and  signal-book  did  not 
worry  him. 

Faithfully  keeping  the  log  and  lookout,  snatching 
cat  -  naps  seated  in  coils  of  rope,  Scotty  spent  the 
next  three  days  and  nights  on  deck,  while  the  owner 
spent  the  time  in  the  cabin,  only  appearing  once  a 
day — in  the  morning — to  look  out  on  the  waste  of 
heaving  sea,  snarl  a  few  admonitory  remarks  to 
Scotty,  and  go  down. 

But  on  the  third  night  the  wind  died  away  to  a 
half-gale  from  the  northeast,  though  the  sea  still  held 

41 


Land  Ho! 

to  its  original  direction,  and  the  barge  plunged  and 
rolled  heavily  in  the  trough,  head  to  wind.  And  as 
the  sun  rose  in  a  clear  sky,  Mr.  Steiner  came  up, 
with  bloodshot  eyes  and  shaking  hands,  and  looked 
around  for  Scotty,  rinding  him  face  up  to  the  sun  on 
the  main-hatch,  sleeping  the  sleep  of  utter  exhaus 
tion.  He  awakened  him. 

"Isn't  it  time  to  get  up?"  he  inquired,  as  the  big 
Scot  opened  his  eyes.  "  Nine  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
and  you  sound  asleep!" 

"God's  curse  on  ye'"  growled  Scotty,  as  he  hove 
his  long  frame  upward.  "The  first  time  in  eighty 
hours  that  I've  lain  me  doon,  and  then  not  till  day 
light  showed  me  nothing  in  sight.  Wa'  to  your 
whuskey,  ye  swine,  and  le'  me  be." 

"The  whiskey  is  gone,"  said  Mr.  Steiner,  some 
what  plaintively.  "Have  you  any?" 

"Not  a  drop.  It's  no'  provided  for  the  crew  o' 
this  packet." 

"Well,  can't  you  do  something  except  sleep? 
We've  been  out  here  long  enough.  Why  don't  you 
sail  this  vessel  back?" 

Scotty 's  face  hardened  as  he  looked  around,  and 
then  he  went  to  the  compass,  looked  in,  and  came 
back. 

"  It's  a  good,  fair  wind  for  Sandy  Hook,  though  a 
little  heavy  for  that  old  canvas.  I'm  just  tellin'  ye, 
but  if  you  say  so,  we'll  set  the  mainsail.  Mind  ye, 
it  may  blow  away;  but  there's  no  whiskey  this  side 
o'  port.  What  d'  ye  say,  Mr.  Steiner?" 

42 


The   Ship-Owner 

Mr.  Steiner  looked  doubtfully  at  the  brailed  main 
sail,  then  at  the  rolling  sea. 

"  I  know  just  how  you  feel,  sir,"  ventured  Scotty. 
"  I  feel  myself  that  a  drink  wadna  be  amiss,  after  this 
drill;  but,  mind  ye,  the  sails  are  old,  and — you're  the 


owner." 


"Set  them,"  said  the  owner,  decisively.  "Get 
this  barge  home." 

Hot  coppers  are  bad  for  the  judgment. 

"All  right,  sir,  if  you  say  so,"  said  Scotty,  "but 
it's  against  my  protest,  Mr.  Steiner.  I  doot  that  the 
canvas  holds  in  this  wind." 

It  did  not ;  they  hauled  out  the  mainsail  with  but 
little  trouble,  and  it  held  together  until  Scotty,  at  the 
wheel,  had  backed  the  barge  broadside  to  the  wind. 
Then,  at  the  second  roll  to  windward,  a  rent  appear 
ed,  and  in  a  minute  the  sail  was  in  ribbons.  Scotty 
left  the  wheel,  and,  as  the  barge  fell  back  into  the 
trough  of  the  sea,  entered  in  the  log  the  statement 
that  the  owner  had  sacrificed  the  mainsail  by  order 
ing  it  set  against  his  protest.  Then  he  came  out  and 
faced  him. 

"Mr.  Steiner,"  he  said,  sternly,  "ye'll  be  willin' 
to  admit,  I  take  it,  your  hopeless  inefeeciency  as 
commander  o'  this  barge.  We're  adrift  a  hunder 
miles  at  sea,  wi'  no  canvas  but  the  spanker,  and  we 
canna  sail  under  that — it's  only  good  to  heave-to 
with  in  a  gale.  And  it's  all  your  doing,  not  mine. 
What  will  ye  advise  doing  now?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Mr.  Steiner.  "How  do  I 

43 


Land   Ho! 

know?  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  about  the  anchor? 
That  would  have  saved  us." 

"  I  told  ye  plain  enough,  but  ye  didna  understand. 
I  repeat,  what  do  you  advise  doing  ?" 

"  Do  what  you  like,"  said  the  owner,  sulkily. 

"  Do  you  resign  the  responsibility  to  me  ?  Under 
stand,  if  you  do,  and  I  bring  this  barge  into  port,  I'm 
entitled  to  salvage.  Think  well,  Mr.  Steiner." 

"  I  knew  that  was  your  game,"  replied  Mr.  Steiner, 
furiously.  "I  knew  it.  But  I'll  block  it.  Don't 
you  fear." 

"  I  have  ye  foul,  Mr.  Steiner,  and  meant  to  when 
ye  accused  me  of  dishonest  scheming;  but  I  let  ye 
ha'  your  own  way.  What  d'  ye  say?  Shall  I  take 
charge  and  save  this  barge?" 

"  Do  as  you  like,  I  told  you.  If  you  can  get  this 
vessel  back,  do  so.  I  will  contest  your  claim  for 
salvage  in  court." 

"Then  I'm  in  command  the  noo?" 

"Yes,  you're  in  command,  if  that's  any  satisfac 
tion  to  you." 

Scotty  went  below  and  entered  his  promotion  in 
the  log,  locked  it  in  the  desk,  and  then  returned  to 
the  owner. 

"  I've  an  entry  in  the  log-book,"  he  said,  with  the 
air  of  a  judge,  "  which  is  legal  testimony  in  court,  Mr. 
Steiner,  of  every  mistake  ye've  made  since  I  told  ye 
aboot  the  anchor.  And  it's  under  lock  and  key 
where  ye '11  no  find  it  to  destroy  it.  Ye  may  get  off 
the  deck  and  oot  o'  my  way.  If  I  need  your  sairvices 

44 


The    Ship-Owner 

I'll  put  ye  on  the  articles  as  ordinary  seaman,  and 
use  you." 

The  owner  stared  with  his  watery  eyes  as  Scotty 
began  unbending  the  spanker;  then,  perhaps  fearing 
a  possible  use  made  of  him,  entered  the  cabin.  A 
little  later,  Scotty,  desiring  help  in  dragging  the  sail 
down  off  the  poop,  went  after  him,  and  found  him 
smiling  benignly  at  a  newly  opened  bottle,  and  in 
the  act  of  pouring  a  glass. 

"Thought  you'd  hide  it,  didn't  you?"  he  asked,  as 
he  glared  triumphantly  at  his  successor  in  command. 
"Well,  I  found  it." 

"  And  I'm  a  damned  good  mind  to  take  it  awa'  from 
you,"  said  Scotty,  with  a  snort  of  disgust.  "Did  I 
e'en  think  ye'd  be  mair  use  sober  than  drunk,  I'd 
do  it;  but  go  ahead — drink  yerself  stupid,  and  keep 
oot  o'  my  sight." 

He  entered  the  owner's  fresh  misdoing  in  the  log, 
and  also  the  item  that,  alone  and  unaided,  inspired 
by  his  own  seamanly  judgment,  he  was  bending  the 
only  good  sail  on  board  as  a  mainsail,  by  which,  as  a 
balancing-sail,  he  hoped  to  make  port  in  any  wind  or 
weather. 

And  this  was  the  deep,  dark  scheme  that  had  in 
spired  the  single-minded  Scot  since  he  had  first  blown 
away  the  jib — to  allow  the  owner  his  own  way  until 
all  canvas  was  gone  but  the  brand-new  spanker,  and 
to  then  sail  the  barge  in  under  this  sail  in  a  better 
place. 

But,  jubilant  with  success  as  he  drove  the  owner 

45 


Land   Ho! 

out  of  the  cabin  to  assist  in  setting  the  sail  when  bent, 
he  talked  about  it  in  a  very  un-Scotchman-like  man 
ner,  and  thoroughly  impressed  the  befuddled  man 
with  the  importance  of  that  sail  to  Scotty  in  his  scoun 
drelly  salvage  job.  And  so  it  transpired  that,  a  few 
hours  later,  when  Scotty,  unable  to  keep  his  eyes 
open  at  the  wheel,  had  called  Mr.  Steiner  from  his 
bottle,  instructed  him  sufficiently,  and  left  him  to 
steer  while  he  took  a  nap  on  the  deck,  the  owner,  at 
the  first  snore  from  Scotty,  dropped  the  wheel,  and, 
as  the  barge  fell  away,  procured  a  can  of  oil,  drenched 
the  sail  as  high  as  he  could  reach,  and  touched  it  off 
with  a  match.  The  canvas  was  still  too  damp  to 
burn  past  the  oiled  portion,  but  a  hole  was  made,  and 
the  wind  did  the  rest.  If  hot  coppers  are  bad  for  the 
judgment,  truly,  whiskey  is  worse. 

Scotty  awakened  four  hours  later  to  find  nothing 
left  but  a  bolt-rope  fringed  with  streamers,  and  the 
barge  rolling  heavily  in  the  trough,  with  the  owner 
dead  drunk  in  the  cabin.  Though  the  oil-can  knock 
ed  about  the  scuppers,  there  was  no  sign  nor  smell 
of  oil  left,  and  Scotty  saw  nothing  in  the  disaster  but 
increased  proof  of  the  owner's  inefficiency.  So  this 
interpretation  alone  went  into  the  log-book,  and  the 
barratrous  action  of  Mr.  Steiner,  which,  if  proved, 
might  have  materially  helped  Scotty's  dark  scheme, 
was  lost  to  the  evidence. 

The  wind  was  still  brisk  from  the  northeast,  while 
the  sea  rolled  on  from  the  northwest.  When  Mr. 
Steiner  had  dropped  the  wheel,  the  barge,  heading 

46 


The   Ship-Owner 

off  her  course  at  the  time,  had  swung  still  farther, 
and,  presenting  her  stern  to  the  wind  instead  of  her 
bow,  as  before,  wallowed  along  in  the  trough,  yawing 
three  points  each  way.  She  was  safe  enough,  and 
when  Scotty  had  lashed  the  wheel  amidships  he 
went  down  and  stood  over  the  owner,  stretched 
out  and  snoring  in  an  arm-chair  at  the  table, 
the  centre  of  an  odorous  radiation  of  whiskey 
fumes. 

" Ye  dog!"  said  Scotty,  softly,  but  fiercely.  "Ye 
ruinous,  forsaken  disgrace  to  your  race  —  how'd  ye 
ever  come  to  own  property  wi'  your  habits.  Ye 're 
no'  one  o'  the  chosen  people  o'  the  Lord,  I'll  warrant. 
Ye're  a  lineeal  desceendant  o'  one  o'  the  lost  tribes, 
maybe,  but  no  true  Israelite.  Ye  degenerate — ye 
revairsion  to  a  forgotten  past,  get  oot  o'  this  cabin. 
Come,  git  oot!" 

Mr.  Steiner  snored  on,  but  made  no  articulate  re 
sponse  ;  and  Scotty,  getting  between  his  legs,  seized 
an  ankle  in  each  hand  and  walked  away  with  him. 
Mr.  Steiner 's  head  struck  the  floor,  and  for  a  moment 
he  was  awake,  but  the  next  was  asleep  again,  and  so 
he  remained  while  Scotty  dragged  him  out  the  for 
ward  door,  along  the  deck,  and  into  the  galley.  Here 
Scotty  locked  him  in,  after  supplying  him  with  a 
bucket  of  water  and  some  hard  bread  from  the  fore 
castle. 

"  Ye're  a  prisoner  on  bread  and  water,"  he  shouted 
at  the  prostrate  figure,  before  closing  the  door.  "  For 
desairting  the  wheel  at  a  creetical  moment,  ye  shall 

47 


Land   Ho! 

be  locked  up  and  eat  the  maggots  ye  provide  for 
decent  men/1 

He  himself  had  subsisted  on  this  fare  since  the  trip 
began.  He  now  returned  to  the  cabin,  entered  up  in 
the  log  the  last  happening  to  the  owner,  and  ate  a 
substantial  lunch  of  cabin  fare  in  the  steward's  store 
room.  The  whiskey  he  hid  away ;  it  was  Kentucky 
rye,  and  he  was  a  Scotchman. 

Four  hours'  sleep  is  small  recuperation  after  eighty 
hours  of  work.  Scotty  went  on  deck  with  a  mattress, 
took  a  searching  look  around  the  empty  horizon,  and 
lay  himself  down  beside  the  wheel,  where  he  slept 
through  the  day  and  the  following  night,  while  the 
barge,  under  the  lessening  breeze,  plunged  along  to 
the  southward.  At  daylight  he  awakened  and  arose, 
conscious  first  of  a  rattling  clamor  from  the  galley,  to 
which  he  paid  no  attention,  next  that  the  wind  was 
almost  gone,  and  then,  as  his  glance  wandered  around, 
that  there  was  something  in  sight — a  craft  of  some 
kind,  dead  to  leeward,  and  about  five  miles  away. 
An  inspection  through  the  glass  showed  him  a  water- 
washed  hulk,  with  nothing  standing  but  a  stump  of 
mizzenmast. 

"  It  '11  be  a  ship,  I'm  thinkin ',"  he  muttered.  "  Yon 
seems  to  be  a  built  mizzen,  and  the  channels  look 
long  for  a  bark.  A  wooden  ship — likely  a  Yankee." 

Breakfasting  hurriedly,  he  cleared  away  the  wheel, 
steadied  the  barge  for  the  wreck,  and  watched  through 
the  glass  while  she  slowly  drifted  down  before  the 
light  air  still  blowing  from  the  northeast.  But  it  was 


The    Ship-Owner 

three  hours  later  before  he  could  see  with  the  naked 
eye  what  he  had  long  seen  with  the  glass — the  oc 
casional  appearance  at  the  taffrail,  as  though  held 
at  arm's-length  in  some  one's  hands,  of  an  American 
ensign,  union  down. 

"They're  in  sore  trouble,"  he  said  to  himself,  "if 
they  canna  set  it  to  the  stump." 

Soon  he  made  out  that  all  boats  were  smashed, 
both  houses  wrecked,  bulwarks  gone,  that  all  the 
spars,  with  sails  and  gear,  were  washing  alongside, 
and  that  the  hull,  though  almost  out  of  sight,  so  deep 
was  it,  seemed  about  the  same  tonnage  as  that  of  the 
barge. 

"It's  provedeential,"  said  Scotty.  "Gi'en  that 
there's  a  crew  in  her  to  help,  I  can  e'en  make  a  square 
rigger  o'  this  ballahoo,  and  go  home  in  style.  And 
if  I  save  her  spars  to  her  owners,  why,  the  mair  saved 
the  mair  salvage.  But  I'll  keep  the  dog  locked  up 
till  the  wark's  done." 

While  he  still  had  time  he  ran  forward,  leaving  the 
barge  to  take  her  chance  at  keeping  straight.  And 
answering  the  owner's  importuning  through  the  gal 
ley  window  with  a  consignment  to  the  lower  regions, 
he  coiled  down  on  the  forecastle-deck  a  mooring-line, 
made  the  lower  end  fast  to  the  bitts,  and  passed  the 
other  through  the  chock  and  under  the  jib -guys, 
ready  to  heave  to  the  stranger. 

There  was  still  too  much  of  a  sea  rising  and  falling 
to  make  it  practicable  to  lay  alongside.  His  in 
tention  was  to  pass  close  to  her  stern,  and  hang  her 

49 


Land   Ho! 

to  leeward  of  the  deeper  and  more  slowly  drifting 
wreck.  He  accomplished  it  successfully.  Steady 
ing  the  barge  to  graze  the  stern  of  the  other,  he  ran 
forward  at  the  last  minute,  and  bellowing,  "  Stand 
by  for  a  line"  to  a  hollow-eyed  spectre  whose  head 
and  shoulders  rose  over  the  taffrail,  threw  the  moor 
ing  -  line  to  him.  The  spectre  seized  it,  stumbled 
towards  the  quarter-bitt,  made  it  fast,  and  then  fell  to 
the  deck.  While  Scotty  paid  out  a  few  fathoms,  to 
give  room  for  the  bowsprit,  he  noticed  other  prostrate 
forms  scattered  about,  some  of  which  gave  no  sign  of 
life.  Making  fast,  he  climbed  along  the  line  to  the 
wreck,  and  the  spectre  arose  to  his  knees  to  receive 
him. 

"Water — water,"  the  spectre  whispered,  pointing 
to  his  mouth. 

"Ay,  ay — water  is  it?  Water  ye  shall  have,"  an 
swered  Scotty,  one  swift  glance  taking  in  the  smashed 
tanks  forward.  He  climbed  back,  secured  a  bucket 
ful  and  a  pannikin,  and  with  some  trouble  managed 
to  return  along  the  line  with  the  load. 

"More,  more,"  gasped  the  spectre  in  a  stronger 
voice,  when  he  had  gulped  down  a  cupful. 

"  Ay — all  ye  want.  But  let  that  soak  in  till  I  see 
the  rest." 

He  found  five  dying  wretches  on  the  main-deck, 
and  two  dead.  He  went  the  rounds,  giving  each  a 
drink,  then  back  to  the  man  on  the  poop,  and  down 
to  the  five.  When  the  bucket  was  empty  he  secured 
another,  then  another  and  another,  giving  each  all  he 


The   Ship-Owner 

could  drink ;  for  he  knew  the  physiological  fact  that, 
unlike  hunger,  thirst  carries  no  danger  of  surfeit. 
When  the  spectre  on  the  poop  could  speak  articu 
lately,  he  said: 

"  Yes,  we're  starving,  too,  but  it  was  the  thirst — 
the  thirst — oh,  the  agony  of  thirst.  A  long  passage 
— one  hundred  and  ninety  days  from  Hong-Kong. 
The  water  went  low,  and  all  the  grub  went  bad  or 
gave  out  before  the  leak.  We  pumped,  but  men 
can't  pump  when  starving.  I  grant  that.  And  it 
gained.  Then  the  gale  close  to  Sandy  Hook!  I  had 
to  run  while  we  shortened  down,  and  we  brought  by 
the  lee  and  lost  our  spars  and  our  deck- tanks.  My 
mates  and  all  my  best  men  were  up  aloft,  and  went, 
too.  These  fellows  left  are  landsmen — incompetent. 
They  cannot  even  speak  English." 

"Can  they  wark?"  inquired  Scotty. 

"  Put  a  rope  in  their  hands  and  they'll  pull — that's 
all." 

"That's  enough  for  me.  Gi'en  that  the  weather 
keeps  fair,  I'll  borrow  your  spars  and  make  a  ship 
o'  that  craft  I'm  in.  But  I'll  get  ye  and  your  men 
aboard  and  feed  ye  first.  What's  wrong  wi'  your 
leg,  cappen?"  The  captain  had  essayed  to  rise  to 
his  feet,  only  to  fall  back. 

"  I  sprained  my  ankle.  You'll  need  a  chair  for  me. 
I  don't  know  how  the  rest  are." 

The  rest  were  able  to  move  but  not  to  stand ;  and, 
alone,  and  to  the  music  of  the  owner's  voice,  Scotty 
rigged  a  trolley  from  the  foremast  of  his  own  craft 

5  51 


Land   Ho ! 

to  the  mizzen  of  the  other,  slung  the  cabin  arm-chair 
to  it,  and  transshipped  the  six  men,  each  of  whom 
he  had  to  lift  into  the  chair,  pull  after  him  as  he 
climbed  along  the  line,  and  then  lift  out  to  the  fore 
castle-deck  of  the  barge. 

Then  he  carried  them,  one  by  one,  down  the  steps 
and  aft  to  the  cabin,  where  he  fed  them  scantily  on 
such  food  as  his  common-sense  suggested — rice-water 
at  first,  followed  through  the  day  by  barley  broth 
and  canned  oyster  soup,  all  of  which  he  prepared  on 
the  cabin  stove,  not  caring  to  disturb  his  prisoner  in 
the  galley. 

"What's  going  on  out  there?"  asked  Mr.  Steiner, 
through  the  dead  -  light  or  round  window,  when 
Scotty  was  passing.  "Why  am  I  locked  in  here?" 
His  tone  was  mild  and  respectful,  and  Scotty  was 
moved  to  answer. 

"You're  locked  up,"  he  said,  sternly,  "for  leaving 
your  post  o'  duty  to  the  destruction  o'  property, 
contrary  to  orders  gi'en  you  by  me,  the  lawful  com 
mander  o'  this  craft." 

"  But  I'm  the  owner  of  this  craft.  Let  me  out.  I 
deprive  you  of  command." 

"  You  can't  under  the  law  till  we  get  to  port ;  and 
it's  doon  in  the  log  that  you  promoted  me  to  com 
mand.  And  as  you're  of  a  troublesome,  dissatisfied 
disposeetion,  ye'll  stay  locked  up  till  I've  earned  the 
salvage  I  mean  to  gouge  out  o'  ye,  ye  four-legged, 
whuskey -sodden,  unregenerate  cheeld  o'  hell.  Don't 
think  I'll  let  ye  on  deck  to  enter  a  counter  -  claim 

52 


The   Ship-Owner 

o'  wark  performed  and  direective  superintendence 
offered.  I've  a  job  on  hand  beyond  your  powers. 
Stay  there,  and  hush — damn  ye!" 

"  I  want  something  to  eat,"  yelled  Mr.  Steiner,  as 
Scotty  moved  away. 

"  Eat  what  ye've  got.  Ye  bought  it  yourself,  to  be 
consumed  in  this  end  o'  the  ship." 

Though  not  so  emaciated  as  his  men,  which  he 
frankly  explained  as  due  to  his  not  sharing  the  last 
few  morsels  of  food  with  them,  Captain  Boyd,  of  the 
sinking  ship,  was  really  in  a  bad  way  from  his  sprain 
ed  ankle.  He  was  unable  to  move  without  crutches, 
and  as  Scotty  had  none,  nor  time  to  make  them,  he 
put  him  to  bed  in  the  skipper's  room,  and  carried 
the  five  living  skeletons  forward  and  put  them  in  the 
forecastle -bunks.  Then,  visiting  them  all  at  inter 
vals,  with  food  and  water,  he  worked  at  the  task  he 
had  set  for  himself. 

He  judged  that  the  wreck  would  not  float  many 
hours  longer.  He  lowered  the  barge's  one  boat,  and, 
equipping  it  with  axe,  top-mall,  marline-spikes  and 
coils  of  rope,  disconnected  the  tangled  wreckage 
from  the  ship's  side,  and,  with  the  help  of  the  capstan 
hauled  it  to  the  barge  and  moored  it,  more  or  less 
securely,  before  sundown  of  that  day.  He  even,  at 
Captain  Boyd's  request,  secured  her  chronometer, 
compass,  and  log-book — which  latter  told  him,  for  the 
first  time,  her  name,  the  Gladiator,  of  Bath — and  the 
captain's  personal  effects.  He  had  neither  light  nor 
time  to  do  more;  for  within  ten  minutes  from  his 

53 


Land   Ho! 

casting  off  the  mooring  -  line  and  jumping  into 
the  boat,  the  dismantled  hulk  gently  settled  be 
neath  the  surface  and  went  down  with  hardly  a 
flurry. 

Mr.  Steiner  had  continued  his  vociferations  for 
something  to  eat,  and,  after  he  had  fed  his  patients 
and  himself,  and  sent  up  the  riding- light,  Scotty  gave 
him  some  beans,  pease,  and  salt  pork  of  the  forecastle 
stores,  with  instructions  in  cooking.  Then,  the  night 
being  fine,  with  no  wind  and  little  sea,  he  turned  in, 
to  dreamless  sleep,  for  he  was  tired. 

In  the  morning  Captain  Boyd  asked  his  name, 
and  then,  addressing  him  as  Captain  McPherson, 
asked  for  crutches.  Scotty,  secretly  pleased  at  the 
sound  of  the  title,  obliged  him  with  two  long  swab- 
handles  and  some  tools,  and,  while  the  captain 
littered  the  cabin  floor  with  shavings  and  chips,  re 
sumed  his  work  on  the  wreckage.  Big  and  strong 
though  he  was,  he  could  do  little  more  than  per 
manently  secure  it  from  going  adrift  or  doing  harm 
should  the  wind  and  sea  rise ;  but  that  day  he  discon 
nected  the  broken  lower  masts  from  the  topmasts — 
saving  the  fids,  and  hoisted  on  board  the  royal  and 
topgallant-yards  with  the  sails  and  gear.  This  ma 
terial  alone  would  have  given  him  a  jury-rig  under 
which  he  could  have  made  port ;  but  Scotty,  besides 
being  a  master  seaman  and  mechanic,  had  an  artis 
tic  love  of  a  perfect  piece  of  work,  and,  his  en 
thusiasm  now  aroused,  he  planned  to  do  as  he  had 
announced — make  a  square-rigged  ship  of  the  barge, 

54 


The   Ship-Owner 

and  take  her  in  as  such.     Great  would  be  the  noise 
thereof,  and  great  the  salvage. 

About  mid-day  Captain  Boyd  appeared  on  deck, 
limping  around  on  his  completed  crutches,  and  for  a 
time  contributed  fraternal  and  seamanly  comments 
on  the  work;  but,  in  his  wanderings  about  the  deck, 
he  passed  near  to  the  galley  window,  and  Scotty  ob 
served  him  in  earnest  conversation  with  the  owner. 
Soon  he  appeared  before  Scotty  with  pain  and  in 
dignation  in  his  wasted  face. 

"I  understand,"  he  said,  sternly,  "that  you  are 
not  captain  of  this  craft,  as  you  have  represented." 

"  Ye  understand  wrong,"  replied  Scotty,  belaying 
the  tackle  he  was  hauling  and  facing  him.  "It's 
doon  in  the  log  that  I'm  in  command." 

"And  is  that  the  owner  you've  got  locked  in  the 
galley?" 

"  It  is — for  wilfu'  disobedience  of  orders  and  de 
struction  o'  property." 

"  That's  not  right.     Let  him  out." 

"  Ay,  and  who  says  so  ?" 

"I  do.  I  am  a  ship-master,  and  know  the  right 
and  wrong  of  things.  He  has  described  you  —  a 
foremast  hand  on  this  barge,  who  deliberately  set  her 
adrift.  He  has  told  me  to  take  her  in  with  my  men 
when  they  can  work,  and  to  put  you  in  your  place — 
'fore  the  mast  among  them." 

"Now,  I'll  tell  ye,  Captain  Boyd,"  said  Scotty, 
a  dangerous  light  in  his  eye,  "that  if  ye  talk  like 
that—" 

55 


Land   Ho! 

He  launched  himself,  head-first,  at  Captain  Boyd ; 
for  the  latter  had  drawn  a  bright  revolver — Scotty 
had  saved  it  for  him— from  his  pocket.  The  impact 
knocked  the  captain  off  his  crutches,  and  he  floun 
dered  to  the  deck  with  a  whinny  of  pain,  while 
Scotty  twisted  the  pistol  from  his  weak  fingers  and 
pocketed  it. 

"  Ye're  too  impulsive,  Captain  Boyd,"  said  Scotty, 
looking  down  serenely  on  the  chagrined  skipper, 
"and  too  much  impressed  wi'  the  dignity  o'  your 
poseetion  in  the  warld,  and  the  halo  o'  diveenity  that 
hedges  aboot  the  rank  o'  captain.  Not  only  that, 
but  ye're  impolite  and  ungrateful  to  the  man  that 
saved  your  life.  Ye  can't  help  the  first,  bein'  a 
captain  o'  many  years'  standin',  na  doot;  but  for  the 
last  ye  shall  be  locked  up  wi'  the  dog.  Drop  that 
crutch!" 

The  crutch  he  had  regained  was  taken  from  him, 
and,  protesting  violently,  Captain  Boyd  was  dragged 
to  the  galley  door,  through  which,  when  he  had  un 
locked  it,  Scotty  bundled  him,  with  small  regard  for 
his  injured  ankle.  Giving  the  obtruding  Mr.  Steiner 
a  push  which  sent  him  reeling  across  the  galley,  he 
relocked  the  door;  then,  suggesting  through  the 
window  that  they  be  kind  and  brotherly,  and  that 
the  captain  teach  Mr.  Steiner  the  "musteries"  of  sea 
cookery,  he  entered  up  the  log-book  and  resumed  his 
labors. 

With  the  small  spars  and  sails  on  board  with  their 
gear,  there  was  little  more  that  he  could  do  alone, 

56 


The   Ship-Owner 

except  to  get  mast  ropes  aloft  and  to  compare  the 
diameter  of  the  barge's  cap  irons  with  that  of  the 
ship's  topmast;  but  he  did,  on  the  following  day, 
succeed  in  parbuckling  the  three  topgallantmasts 
up  to  the  rail,  where  he  lashed  and  left  them.  This 
done,  there  remained  nothing  but  to  nurse  his 
patients  back  to  health  and  strength;  and  to  this 
Scotty  devoted  himself  assiduously,  feeding,  water 
ing,  and  exercising  the  five  in  the  forecastle  as  a 
farmer  would  his  stock,  but  neglecting  none  the  less 
the  two  in  the  galley,  furnishing,  besides  food,  lini 
ment  and  bandages  to  the  captain,  and  admonition 
and  rebuke  to  both.  Luckily,  the  weather  remained 
fine,  and  the  three  topmasts  and  six  heavy  yards 
alongside  did  no  damage  to  the  barge.  And  while 
waiting,  as  the  days  wore  on,  he  found  that  he  could 
unship  the  caps,  crosstrees  and  trestletrees  from  the 
topmasts  while  still  in  the  water,  and  save  valuable 
time  later. 

Mr.  Steiner  soon  grew  malignant  to  an  extreme, 
shouting  curses  and  obscenity  at  the  big  Scot  through 
the  window  whenever  he  passed  it.  There  was  more 
of  menace,  however,  in  the  silent  dignity  of  Captain 
Boyd  than  in  all  this  billingsgate,  and  even  the  steady 
soul  of  Scotty  was  moved  by  it.  He  offered  to  let 
him  out  on  his  promise  of  good  behavior,  but  was 
not  answered.  So,  needing  the  galley  for  cooking  by 
this  time,  he  transferred  them  to  the  carpenter-shop 
—which  had  windows,  too — first  removing  all  tools. 
Yet  there  was  no  doubt  of  the  gratitude  of  the  five 

57 


Land   Ho! 

men  in  the  forecastle.  They  knew  who  had  saved 
their  lives,  and  they  smiled  and  fawned  on  and  fol 
lowed  Scotty  about  like  dogs,  grovelling  at  his  feet 
when  he  spoke,  and  willingly  offering  assistance 
when  yet  barely  able  to  stand.  Lascars  they  were, 
small,  brown,  and  withered  at  their  best,  quick  and 
active  in  a  warm  climate,  but  stupid  and  dull  in  the 
chilly  temperature  of  the  North  Atlantic. 

Yet  with  this  crew  and  the  materials  at  hand 
Scotty  rigged  a  ship. 

It  was  a  long  and  laborious  task,  with  the  capstan, 
tackles,  and  luffs,  and  Scotty  did  most  of  the  work; 
but  his  strength  was  equal  to  that  of  any  three  of 
the  five.  They  managed  to  get  the  spars  and  lower 
canvas  on  board  while  still  the  weather  remained 
fine,  and  to  send  up  and  secure  the  maintopmast; 
but  this  done,  a  gale  from  the  west  forced  a  suspen 
sion  of  work  for  a  week,  and  blew  the  craft  a  few 
hundred  miles  farther  to  sea.  But  with  fine  weather 
and  a  calm  they  got  the  fore  and  mizzen  topmasts  on 
end,  stayed  fore  and  aft,  and  the  rigging  set  up  to  the 
tops.  Then  followed  the  yards — upper  ones  first, 
because  of  his  small  crew,  though  contrary  to  sea 
manship  and  the  will  of  Providence ;  then  the  lower. 

Little  of  the  standing  rigging  was  injured  in  the 
accident  to  the  ship,  carrying  away,  when  the  spars 
went  over,  at  the  lanyards  or  seizings,  but  nearly 
every  rope  of  the  running  gear  required  splicing  in 
some  way,  and  this  used  up  material.  Long  before 
the  canvas  was  bent — a  job  hardest  and  heaviest  of 


The   Ship-Owner 

all  under  the  circumstances  —  the  artistic  soul  of 
Scotty  was  grieved  by  the  conviction  that  he  could 
not  send  up  topgallantmasts  and  upper-yards,  after 
all.  There  was  not  rope  enough  to  go  around.  So, 
content,  perforce,  with  courses,  lower  and  upper 
topsails,  with  a  foretopmast  -  staysail  forward,  and 
a  spanker  cut  down  from  the  ship's  main-spencer, 
Scotty  shaped  a  course  for  Sandy  Hook,  chose  a  mate, 
and  set  the  watches.  She  was  a  ship,  assuredly,  but 
without  upper  spars  or  jib-boom. 

Every  happening  of  the  long,  hard  job  had  been 
entered  in  the  log,  and  every  bad  word  of  the  owner 
as  well.  His  own  state  of  health  and  being  —  his 
strenuous  exertions  and  his  fatigue,  the  number  of 
hours  he  slept  when  work  spared  him  and  the  num 
ber  he  remained  awake  when  storm  and  stress  re 
quired  it — all  went  down  to  make  his  case  of  salvage 
good  against  Mr.  Steiner.  Captain  Boyd's  attitude, 
after  the  entry  recording  the  deadly  assault,  was 
invariably  described  as  "  intractable,"  and  that  of 
the  crew  as  "willing,  but  useless." 

And  so,  fortified  by  his  evidence,  and  his  hap 
piness  clouded  only  by  the  inartistic  hiatus  aloft, 
Scotty  sailed  his  first  command  up  to  the  Sandy  Hook 
channel-buoy,  took  a  pilot,  later  a  tug,  and  docked 
her  at  Tompkinsville  with  all  the  noise  and  eclat  of  a 
veteran  commander,  while  from  up  and  down  the 
shores  of  Staten  Island  flocked  those  of  the  popula 
tion  that  could  be  interested  in  the  arrival  of  the  well- 
known  old  Champion  coming  in  with  topmasts  up 

59 


Land   Ho! 

and  yards  crossed.  Among  them  were  some  New 
York  boarding-house  runners,  who,  by  methods 
known  best  to  themselves,  whisked  Scotty 's  five 
Lascars  from  under  his  nose  and  over  the  side  before 
he  could  stop  them.  Also  in  the  crowd  were  two 
policemen,  and  these  he  beckoned  aboard  and 
forward  to  the  carpenter-shop  door.  Flushed  and 
elated,  he  would  enforce  his  hard-earned  power  and 
prerogative  to  the  last  outpost.  A  large  crowd, 
scenting  excitement,  followed. 

"I've  a  couple  o'  prisoners  inside,"  he  said  to  the 
officers.  "  One  o'  them  I  mean  to  release,  as  I  shall 
proceed  against  him  in  the  ceevil  courts;  but  the 
other  I  want  you  to  arrest  for  drawing  a  gun  on 
me  in  an  argument  ootside.  It's  all  doon  in  the 

log." 

"You're  the  captain,  I  suppose,"  said  one  of  the 
policemen. 

"I  am — and  that's  doon  in  the  log,  too,"  said 
Scotty,  unlocking  the  door. 

Out  sprang  Mr.  Steiner,  dirty,  dishevelled,  and 
excited,  but  clear-eyed  and  coherent  of  thought, 
followed  by  Captain  Boyd,  who  limped  a  little,  but 
whose  face,  less  emaciated  now,  showed  none  of  the 
pain  and  indignation  It  had  worn  when  Scotty  had 
conquered  him. 

"That's  the  man,"  said  Scotty,  pointing  to  him. 
"  Take  him  along,  and  I'll  appear  against  him." 

Captain  Boyd  smiled,  but  said  nothing. 

"Arrest  that  man,  policemen,"  yelled  Mr.  Steiner, 

60 


The    Ship-Owner 

springing  to  Scotty's  side  and  seizing  his  arm.     "  I 
own  this  vessel.     Arrest  this  mutineer." 

"  Be  careful  what  you  do  without  a  warrant,  offi 
cers,"  said  Captain  Boyd.  "This  trouble  occurred 
on  the  high  seas." 

"What  was  the  trouble,  anyhow?"  asked  the 
officer. 

"  He  pulled  a  gun  to  deprive  me  o'  command  after 
I'd  saved  his  life,"  said  Scotty,  hotly.  "  Run  him  in. 
I'll  prosecute." 

"  He  stole  my  vessel,"  yelled  the  owner.  "  He's  a 
pirate.  He  set  her  adrift  so  as  to  save  her  for  salvage 
—to  rob  me  of  money  under  cover  of  the  law." 

"  Both  statements  are  more  or  less  correct,  offi 
cers,"  said  Captain  Boyd.  "Still,  it's  best  that  you 
make  no  arrests  without  a  warrant." 

"That's  right,  I  guess,"  replied  the  officer.  "Go 
get  your  warrant  and  I'll  pinch  anybody  named  in  it. " 

"But  I'm  master  o'  the  ship,"  said  Scotty.  "I 
was  put  in  command,  and  it's  all  doon  in  the  log. 
And  everything  I've  done  was  done  as  master,  and 
it's  all  doon  in  the  log.  As  master  I'm  a  magistrate, 
wi'  power  o'  impreesonment  over  all  on  board.  I 
impreesoned  that  man  for  attempted  assault,  and 
I've  the  legal  right  to  demand  his  arrest." 

"Go  get  your  warrant,"  replied  the  policeman, 
doggedly.  "We  saw  nothing  of  all  this." 

"I'll  get  the  warrant,"  said  Mr.  Steiner,  moving 
away  with  a  vengeful  light  in  his  eyes.  "I'll  do  the 
prosecuting." 

61 


Land   Ho! 

"Wait,  Mr.  Steiner,"  said  Captain  Boyd,  with  an 
amused  expression  of  face,  placing  himself  in  the  way 
and  pushing  him  back.  "Don't  be  rash,  for  this 
man  has  saved  your  property.  Mr.  McPherson,"  he 
said  to  Scotty,  emphasizing  the  prefix  to  the  name, 
"as  an  old  man  with  a  large  experience  in  maritime 
law,  I  advise  that  you  do  not  presume  too  much  in 
port  on  a  position  technically  given  you  at  sea — on  a 
promotion  made  under  stress  of  fright  and  ignorance 
by  a  drunken  ship-owner.  I've  questioned  this  man 
thoroughly,  and  know  all  your  plans  and  schemes. 
You  did  right  to  slip  the  chain,  but  you  should  have 
beached  the  craft  on  Coney  Island,  even  against  his 
protest.  You  had  the  same  right  to  overrule  him  as 
sailor  as  you  had  later  when,  technically  in  com 
mand,  you  had  to  imprison  him.  You  had  a  right  to 
imprison  me,  even  as  a  shipped  man,  for  as  a  member 
of  her  crew  you  ranked  me — to  use  a  military  term— 
a  stranger  whose  life  you  had  saved.  I  acted  hastily 
and  unthinkingly,  Mr.  McPherson,  and  I  apologize." 

Captain  Boyd  extended  his  hand,  which  the  open- 
mouthed  Scotty  took  mechanically. 

"  And  do  ye  mean  to  say,"  said  he,  "  that  I  was  no* 
bound  to  take  his  orders  to  keep  off  the  bottom?" 

"You  were  not.  Your  duty  was  to  use  your  sea 
man's  judgment  to  the  best  advantage.  Any  salvage 
judge  would  see  at  once  that  you  were  playing  a 
game.  You  have  not  even  deceived  me,  and  I'm  no 
lawyer.  And  that  is  not  all.  The  joke  is  decidedly 
against  you,  even  though  you  fooled  everybody.  For 

62 


The   Ship-Owner 

you  are  not  entitled  to  salvage,  though  you  did  all 
this  work — and  a  fine  job,  too,  I  may  say  "-—the  cap 
tain  glanced  aloft,  approvingly — "alone  and  un 
aided." 

"I'm  no'  entitled  to  salvage?"  exclaimed  Scott y, 
in  derision. 

"  You  are  not.  As  a  member  of  this  vessel's  crew 
you  have  done  no  more  than  your  duty,  and  are  en 
titled,  under  the  law,  to  no  more  than  wages.  Sal 
vage  is  money  paid  to  outsiders." 

"Yah!  yah! — ya-ha!"  yelled  Mr.  Steiner,  joyously, 
dancing  up  and  down.  "  Do  you  hear  that,  you 
thieving  scoundrel?" 

"No'  entitled  to  salvage?"  repeated  Scotty,  un 
believingly,  while  Captain  Boyd  looked  contempt 
uously  at  the  dancing  owner.  "  Then,  in  the  name 
o'  fair  play  and  justice,  who  wad  be  entitled  to  it? 
I've  saved  property  and  I've  saved  life.  I  had  the 
brain  and  the  strength  to  do  it  when  no  one  else  had. 
No'  entitled  to  salvage?  Who  wad  be  if  I'm  not?" 

"You're  not — you're  not,"  chattered  the  owner. 
"Not  a  cent.  I'll  fight  you  in  court.  I  told  you  I 
would." 

"That  raises  another  interesting  point,  Mr.  Mc- 
Pherson,"  said  the  captain,  dryly.  "Had  you  not 
locked  me  up  with  a  pig  and  fed  me  on  swill,  I  would 
have  enlightened  you,  for  you  saved  my  life,  and 
after  my  resentment  ended  I  was  grateful.  But  it 
did  no  harm  to  show  your  seamanship,  for  I  am  a 
judge  of  it,  and  will  sign  you  first  mate  at  any  time 

63 


Land   Ho! 

I  have  a  ship  to  sail.     I  know  a  good  man  when  I  see 
him  at  work." 

"That's  beside  the  point,"  said  Scotty,  angrily. 
"  I  want  none  o'  your  mate's  berths.  What's  the 
point  on  your  mind  ?" 

"The  point  is,  that  if  any  salvage  is  paid  for  the 
fitting  out  of  this  barge  with  a  jury-rig  and  bringing 
her  to  port,  it  will  be  paid  to  me  and  my  five  men, 
even  though  we  owe  our  lives  to  the  fact  that  this 
jeopardized  property  floated  our  way." 

"Paid  to  you!"  spluttered  Mr.  Steiner.  "Not 
much.  You  did  nothing." 

"To  me,  my  owners,  and  to  my  five  Lascars,  if 
they  remain  on  shore  to  claim  it,"  said  the  captain, 
calmly.  "  We  were  not  members  of  the  barge's  crew, 
and  we  furnished  the  man-power  and  the  material. 
Mr.  Steiner,"  he  added,  looking  the  owner  squarely 
in  the  face,  "for  being  compelled  to  listen  to  your 
mouthings,  and  to  endure  your  society  for  three  long 
weeks,  I  shall  reach  for  your  heart's  blood — your 
pocket.  The  salvage  on  this  barge  and  cargo  will 
amount,  I  should  say,  to  about  twenty  thousand 
dollars.  Are  you  insured?" 

"No.  I'm  not,"  shouted  Mr.  Steiner.  "But  I 
won't  pay  it.  Not  much.  Twenty  thousand  dol 
lars  to  you  for  doing  nothing.  I'll  fight  you  in 
court." 

"Twenty  thousand  dollars,"  repeated  Scotty, 
blankly.  "  And  what  do  I  get  for  twenty-five  days 
o'  man-killin'  wark." 


The    Ship-Owner 

"Twenty-five  days'  pay,"  said  Captain  Boyd,  with 
a  smile.  "What  does  that  amount  to?" 

"Just  aboot  twenty  dollars,"  answered  Scotty, 
looking  around  with  a  face  dark  with  passion.  "  But 
I  get  mair" — his  voice  became  a  roar — "I  get  one 
good  knockdown  for  the  job,  damn  ye!" 

With  two  long  steps  he  reached  the  owner's 
vicinity.  Then  he  shot  out  his  mighty  fist — which 
seemed  like  a  streak  of  brown  in  the  air — full  on  the 
large  nose  of  Mr.  Steiner,  who,  clucking  like  a  hen, 
went  down  in  a  heap  and  lay  quiet,  the  proboscis 
smashed  to  a  bleeding  pulp.  The  crowd  murmured 
its  delight,  and  the  two  policemen,  with  drawn  clubs, 
seized  Scotty 's  arms,  but  he  dragged  them  along  with 
him  to  the  prostrate  form. 

"Hold  on!"  they  exclaimed,  "don't  hit  him  again. 
Come  along  with  us,  now,  quietly,  or  you'll  have 
trouble.  We  saw  this,  and  we  need  no  warrant. 
You'll  get  twenty  days,  too,  for  this." 

"Wait,  officers,"  said  Captain  Boyd,  stepping 
forward.  "Is  it  necessary  to  arrest  him?  He  had 
strong  provocation." 

"  Dry  up !"  bellowed  Scotty,  struggling  in  the  police 
men's  grasp.  "  I  want  nane  o'  yer  seempathy,  an'  if 
I  get  at  ye,  by  the  leevin'  Gawd,  I'll  gi'  ye  one,  too." 

Captain  Boyd  stepped  back  and  secured  a  belaying- 
pin ;  for  Scotty 's  mighty  strength  promised  to  prevail 
over  that  of  the  policemen. 

"Best  take  him  along,  officers,"  he  said.  "I'll 
appear  and  testify  for  him." 

65 


Land    Ho! 

"Don't  waste  your  time,"  answered  one  of  them. 
"  He's  resisting  officers  in  the  discharge  of  their  duty. 
Quiet,  now,  or  you'll  go  in  the  wagon."  He  gave 
Scotty  a  tap  on  the  head  with  his  club  which  had  the 
effect  of  dazing  him.  Dragging  his  feet  painfully,  he 
was  led  away  through  the  crowd  and  over  the  rail  as 
Mr.  Steiner  arose  to  his  feet. 

"  I  discharge  you,"  he  yelped,  weakly,  but  vicious 
ly.  "  Get  off  my  vessel.  You  are  discharged." 

And  the  next  day  he  paid  Scotty  his  twenty  dollars 
as  the  latter  received  his  sentence — twenty  dollars 
fine  and  twenty  days  in  jail,  as  the  officer  had  pre 
dicted.  Policemen  know  many  things. 


The    Wave 


SCOTTY  strolled  down  to  the  dock  and  sat  on  a 
spile.  He  had  no  particular  business  there, 
aside  from  the  business  that  every  sailorman,  out  of 
a  berth,  out  of  money,  and  down  to  his  final  pipeful 
of  tobacco,  has  near  the  shipping.  Down -stream  at 
another  dock  lay  his  last  ship,  the  tow-barge  Cham 
pion — from  which  berth  he  had  retired  in  deep  dis 
grace — with  her  consort,  the  Anita;  and  here  at  this 
dock  lay  the  big  ocean-tug  which  towed  the  two 
barges.  Having  been  honored  with  a  personal  dis 
charge  from  the  owner  himself,  Scotty  did  not 
hope  for  a  berth  in  any  craft  of  the  employ; 
but  he  yearned  for  sympathy  and  companionship, 
and  he  might  have  accepted  an  offer  to  work  his 
passage  to  some  other  port  in  the  stoke -hold  of  the 
tug,  whose  captain  and  crew  he  knew.  As  he 
smoked  and  brooded,  Captain  Anson  of  the  tug 
came  out  of  the  engine-room  and  spied  him.  "  Hello, 
Scotty!"  he  said,  genially.  "When  did  you  get 
out  ?"  Then  he  stepped  over  to  the  dock  and  joined 
him. 


Land    Ho! 

"This  day,  cappen,"  answered  Scotty,  rising  and 
taking  the  extended  hand.  "  I  expect  ye've  made 
a  couple  o'  trips  since  I  was  locked  up." 

"Yes,  two.     Twenty  days  you  got,  didn't  you?" 

"Ay,  cappen,"  replied  Scotty,  sorrowfully. 
"Twenty  days  for  tappin'  a  ship-owner  on  the  nose. 
It's  severe  punishment.  What  'd  I  ha'  got  if  I'd 
tried  to  hurt  him." 

"A  hemp  necktie.  Don't  ever  try  to  hurt  any 
body.  Twenty  days  is  little  enough  for  the  smash 
you  gave  his  nose." 

"I  wadna  mind  the  twenty  days,"  said  Scotty, 
sadly,  "nor  the  shame  o'  the  thing,  but  it  was 
twenty  dollars'  fine,  too,  and  it  was  all  I'd  aimed  on 
that  last  trip.  Now,  what  '11  the  poor  mither  do?" 
He  took  from  his  pocket  a  letter  and  handed  it  to  the 
captain.  "She  says  she'll  be  a  charge  on  the  town 
soon,  if  you  don't  help  out.  That's  it,  Scotty,"  said 
the  captain  when  he  had  read. 

"Ay,  a  charge — an  object  o'  charity  in  her  old 
age.  It  '11  kill  her,  cappen.  I've  sent  her  most 
o'  my  pay  right  along,  but  this  business  stopped  it." 
There  were  tears  in  Scotty 's  eyes. 

"I'd  give  you  a  berth,  Scotty,  only  that  I'd  lose 
my  own  if  I  did." 

"  But  could  ye  gi'  me  a  passage,  cappen,  to  Philly, 
where  I  can  ship?" 

"  Yes,  I  will.  Hang  around,  and  sneak  aboard  at 
the  last  minute.  But  don't  let  him  see  you.  I  ex 
pect  him  down  soon,  as  we  make  a  start  this  after- 

68 


The   Wave 

noon.  Here  he  comes,  though,  and  he's  seen  me 
talking  to  you.  Too  late  now." 

Scotty  sat  down  on  the  spile  again,  and  the  cap 
tain  climbed  aboard  the  tug  to  receive  the  owner. 
Mr.  Steiner  came  down  the  dock  with  a  business-like 
stride,  and  a  scowl  on  his  face  made  more  rigid  and 
intense  by  crossing  strips  of  adhesive  plaster  that 
almost  covered  his  large  nose.  He  passed  Scotty 
without  a  glance  at  him,  but  when  he  had  joined 
the  captain  aboard  the  tug  he  turned  and  shouted : 
"  Here,  you  —  McPherson,  get  away  from  here. 
You're  up  to  some  game,  you  scoundrel." 

"Is  this  your  dock,  Mr.  Steiner?"  asked  Scotty, 
mildly,  removing  his  pipe  for  the  speech. 

"Get  away,  I  say." 

"Go  ye  to  the  de'il,  ye  bad  example."  Scotty 
still  spoke  mildly. 

"If  you  don't  take  yourself  off,  you  loafer,  I'll 
direct  Captain  Anson  to  drive  you.  Understand?" 

"Ay,  I  do;  but  Captain  Anson  won't  do  that." 

"  Won't  he  ?     Why  won't  he  ?" 

"I  won't  let  him." 

Captain  Anson  grinned  behind  the  owner. 

"That's  right,  Mr.  Steiner,"  he  said,  quietly. 
"Look  at  the  size  of  him." 

"Well,  the  police  can  do  it  Police!"  yelled  the 
owner.  ''Police!  POLICE!  Here,  boy,"  he  said, 
addressing  a  near-by  gamin,  "go  get  two  police 
men,  and  I'll  give  you  a — I'll  give  you  five  cents." 

"pi*  him  ten  cents  and  get  foor,  Mr.  Steiner,"  sug- 


Land   Ho! 

gested  the  unmoved  Scotty.  "  It  took  twa  when  I 
smashed  ye  i'  the  nose,  and  I'd  been  lang  on  your 
fo'c'sle  grub.  Preeson  fare  is  nourishin'  by  com 
parison,  and  I'm  far  strang-ger." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  assault  me  again  ?"  inquired  Mr. 
Steiner.  He  had  stepped  up  on  the  rail  to  address 
the  boy — who  was  now  speeding  on  his  mission — but 
at  Scotty 's  words  he  stepped  down  hurriedly  and 
got  behind  the  captain.  "  I'll  have  you  in  jail  again." 

"  Na,  na,  it  'd  be  a  shame  and  a  disgrace  to  hit  ye, 
ye  small-souled  worker  of  ineequity ;  but  I'll  shut  my 
hand  on  ye  if  ye  don't  use  mair  temperate  language." 

Scotty  had  lifted  his  six  feet  of  bone  and  muscle 
upright,  and  now  extended  his  hand — a  mighty  hand 
it  was — towards  the  owner,  opening  and  closing 
the  fingers  menacingly.  Mr.  Steiner  was  palpably 
alarmed,  and  retreated  to  the  open  door  of  the  tug's 
dining-room.  Close  to  this  haven  of  refuge  he  was 
braver. 

''Move  on,  now,"  he  said  to  Scotty,  with  spirit. 
"Just  go  right  on  up  the  dock  and  keep  out  of 
trouble,  you  ruffianly  jail-bird." 

"Ye've  a  loose  and  careless  tongue,"  answered 
Scotty,  beginning  to  lose  his  temper,  "  in  spite  o'  the 
lesson  I  taught  ye.  Take  care,  or  I'll  e'en  come 
aboard  your  boat  and  teach  ye  again.  I'm  no  jail 
bird.  Tharty  years  and  mair  I've  travelled  aboot 
this  world,  and  niver  was  locked  up  till  I  hit  ye." 

"You  are  a  jail-bird,"  called  the  owner,  noting 
the  point  he  had  made.  "  And  if  you  come  aboard 

70 


The   Wave 

this  boat  I'll  jail  you  again.     Don't  you  dare  come 
;l>oard  this  boat,  you  rascally  loafer." 

"Ay,"  said  Scotty,  seating  himself  on  the  spile 
and  smiling  painfully.  "  I  see  your  game,  Mr. 
vSteiner;  but  I've  a  mither  to  support,  and  I've  lost 
time  enough.  Go  on  wi'  your  abuse." 

"Get  away  from  this  boat,"  shouted  Mr.  Sterner. 
"You  low-lived  tough.  Get  away  from  here  or  I'i 
have  you  in  jail  under  the  habitual  criminal  law.  I 
can  jail  you  at  any  time  under  that  law.  YouV. 
an  habitual  criminal." 

"D — n    your    heart    and    soul,"    yelled    Scotty, 
rising   from   the   spile.     "You  lie,  d — n   you;   you 
lie.     And  who  be  you  to  call  me  that,  you — you— 
d — d    ship  -  owner.      You're    naught    but    a   ship 
owner." 

As  an  adequate  response  to  this  insulting  epithet, 
Mr.  Steiner  got  inside  the  door,  reached  his  head  out, 
and  said,  "You're  a  Sawnee." 

Sawnee  Beane,  the  cave-dwelling  cannibal,  who 
with  his  numerous  progeny  enshrined  his  name  and 
fame  in  Scottish  history,  is  the  one  disgrace  that  a 
Scotchman  will  admit  rests  upon  his  native  land. 
One  who  calls  a  Scot  a  Sawnee  should  be  prepared 
to  run,  or  fight,  or  intrench  himself  behind  stone 
walls.  Mr.  Steiner  was  ill-prepared  to  do  either, 
though  he  closed  and  locked  the  door. 

With  the  roar  of  a  bull  Scotty  cleared  the  rail, 
brushed  Captain  Anson  aside,  and  pulled  on  the 
door-knob.  It  held,  but  the  wood- work  gave  way 


Land   Ho! 

and  he  entered  the  dining-room,  followed  by  the 
captain.  Mr.  Steiner  was  just  opening  the  opposite 
door,  and  through  this,  and  aft  along  the  alley, 
Scotty  pursued  him.  The  captain  glanced  out  at 
them,  then  hurried  across  to  the  other  door  to  head 
off  the  animated  tandem  on  the  other  side,  while 
the  engine-room  staff  appeared  at  the  engine-room 
doors  and  the  deck-crew  came  out  of  the  forecastle. 

Loudly  yelling  "  police,"  Mr.  Steiner  raced  forward, 
with  Scotty,  growling  hoarse  profanity,  close  in  his 
rear.  Captain  Anson  flung  himself  between  them 
only  to  be  knocked  down  by  the  impact  of  the  big 
Scotchman's  shoulders,  and  when  he  picked  himself 
up  he  saw  Scotty 's  heels  disappearing  around  the 
forward  corner  of  the  house,  and  up  the  dock,  coming 
at  a  run,  three  policemen  and  the  gamin.  Back 
through  the  dining-room  went  the  captain,  and  this 
time  he  was  more  successful — he  disturbed  Scotty's 
headlong  rush  to  the  extent  of  crowding  him  half 
over  the  rail,  and  while  the  owner,  still  calling  for  the 
police,  ran  around  the  house,  he  and  the  engineer 
seized  him.  Then  the  deck-hands  came  aft  to 
help. 

"You  confounded  fool,"  said  the  captain,  while 
Scotty  struggled  in  their  grasp,  "do  you  want  to  go 
to  jail  again  ?  He's  got  a  sure  case  now.  Think  of 
your  mother,  you  imbecile!  Think  of  her!" 

"Mither,"  repeated  Scotty,  looking  at  the  captain 
helplessly,  almost  pathetically,  like  a  frightened 
child.  Most  of  his  fury  had  passed  from  him  with 

72 


The   Wave 

the  utterence  of  the  word,  and  the  rest  was  going. 
He  trembled  in  every  limb. 

"Stand  quiet,"  said  the  captain,  sternly,  "till  I 
see  where  he  is."  He  darted  through  the  dining- 
room,  peered  out  the  door,  and  returned.  "He's 
ashore  with  the  coppers,"  he  said,  "and  they're 
coming.  Down  in  the  stoke-hold,  Scotty,  and  hide. 
Take  care  of  him,  chief,"  he  said  to  the  engineer. 
"  We'll  tell  'em  he  jumped  overboard  and  swam  under 
the  dock.  But  it's  all  my  job's  worth  if  he  finds  it 
out." 

In  darkness  and  silence  Scotty  spent  the  next 
three  hours  seated  on  a  coal  pile  far  down  below  the 
deck.  In  this  time  not  a  word  reached  him  from 
above,  yet  his  trained  apprehension  took  note  of 
every  move  of  the  tug,  in  picking  up  her  barges,  by 
the  sound  of  the  engine-bells.  He  knew  when  she 
had  stopped  alongside  the  Anita  to  take  her  line  to 
the  Champion;  he  knew  when  the  Champion  had 
passed  hers  to  the  tug ;  he  knew  when  it  had  straight 
ened  out,  with  tug  in  midstream  and  the  first  barge 
leaving  the  dock ;  he  knew  when  the  second  barge  was 
clear;  and  when  he  heard  the  "jingle-bell"  he  knew 
that  the  tow  was  heading  down  -  stream,  and  that 
soon  he  would  be  called.  He  anticipated  this  by 
coming  up  and  offering  his  services,  but  both  mate 
and  engineer  declined  them.  Then  he  sought  the 
crew;  but  they  pressed  upon  him  tobacco  and  oil 
skins — for  it  was  raining — telling  him  to  loaf  and 
enjoy  himself.  Then  he  sought  the  captain,  to  offer 

73 


Land   Ho! 

apologies  and  thanks.  He  found  him  at  the  fantail 
inspecting  a  brand-new  tow-line. 

"  It's  a  peach,  Scotty,  isn't  it  ?"  he  said,  in  answer 
to  Scotty's  halting  overtures,  while  he  patted  the 
bright,  straw-colored  rope,  thirteen  inches  in  circum 
ference,  and  rigid  as  an  iron  bar.  "He's  a  poor 
feeder,  and  won't  insure,  but  he  will  furnish  good, 
safe  gear  instead.  Seems  that  nothing  could  part 
that  big  rope." 

"  And  is  he  no'  insured  this  trip  ?"  inquired  Scotty, 
embarrassed  in  his  well-meant  effort  at  thanks. 

"  Insured  ?  No,  not  with  this  new  tow-line,  and 
brand-new  canvas  on  the  Champion.  Looks  fine, 
doesn't  she?"  He  pointed  to  the  Champion,  heel 
ing  under  the  weight  of  three  new  mutton-leg  sails 
and  a  jib. 

"Does  he  know  I'm  aboard,  cappen?" 

' '  No, ' '  answered  Captain  Anson ,  looking  him  square 
ly  in  the  eyes.  "  He  thinks  you're  drowned,  and  is 
a  little  scared  about  it.  They  couldn't  find  you  under 
the  dock.  It's  up  to  you  to  ship  for  home  and  that 
old  mother  o'  yours,  and  keep  still  about  this." 

"Ay,  that  I  will,  cappen.  And  I'm  blamed 
sorry  I  lost  my  head ;  but  he  called  me  a  Sawnee.  I 
couldna  stand  it." 

"  I  know,"  said  the  captain,  with  a  grin.  "  But  be 
satisfied  that  he  said  nothing  about  your  mother. 
I  was  afraid  he  would  when  you  lugged  her  into  the 
conversation,  but  I  s'pose  he  forgot  to.  He's  the 
meanest  man  I  know,  Scotty.  He  beat  that  kid 

74 


The   Wave 

out  o'  the  nickel.     But,  just  the  same,  I  had  to  stop 
the  circus;  he's  the  owner." 

That  night  Captain  Anson  tested  the  new  tow- 
line.  The  wind  had  been  strong  from  the  east  when 
he  started,  and  he  had  expected  that  it  would 
moderate  and  come  more  from  the  northward,  so  had 
not  made  the  offing  that  he  would  had  he  been  a  bet 
ter  prophet.  Before  eight  bells  that  evening  it  was 
blowing  a  gale,  and  he  headed  out  to  sea  a  little  to 
allow  for  leeway;  then,  in  the  middle  of  the  night, 
the  wind  hauled  to  the  southeast,  heading  him  still 
more,  and  blowing  harder,  and  his  problem  of 
navigation  was  reduced  to  steaming  head  to  wind 
and  sea  in  the  effort  to  keep  off  a  lee  shore,  with 
judicious  attention  to  the  effect  of  wind  and  sea 
upon  the  helpless  barges  in  his  care.  He  had  seen 
with  the  night-glass  that  they  had  taken  in  the  now 
useless  canvas,  and  he  went  aft  to  the  fantail  to 
watch  the  straining  of  the  tow-line.  Scotty  went 
with  him,  but  the  rest  of  the  crew  were  under  cover 
—those  off  duty  in  their  bunks,  the  engineer  and  his 
men  in  the  engine-room,  and  the  mate  in  the  pilot 
house  with  the  helmsman.  The  powerful  and  high- 
sided  tug  was  making  good  weather  of  it,  though 
steaming  at  full  speed  into  combers  that  met  her  at 
fifteen  feet  a  second.  She  occasionally  spooned  up 
a  green  sea,  of  course,  and  the  air  above  her  deck  was 
continually  filled  with  a  horizontal  and  liquid  blast 
that  stung  the  face  like  needles,  while  the  hum  of  the 
engines  and  the  rush  of  wind  and  water  made  even 

75 


Land   Ho! 

thinking  rather  difficult.  But  there  was  nothing 
alarming  in  all  this ;  they  were  making  headway  over 
the  bottom.  The  unsolved  part  of  the  problem  was 
the  condition  of  the  barges  and  the  strength  of  the 
weaker  links  in  the  chain  —  tow-lines  and  bitts. 
Far  astern  the  red  and  green  lights  of  the  Cham 
pion  twinkled  in  the  darkness,  and  now  and  then, 
as  she  yawed  and  brought  them  in  sight,  those 
of  the  Anita  behind  her.  Occasionally  they  were 
obscured  by  the  uplifting  head  of  a  sea  that  had 
passed  the  tug.  Captain  Anson  clambered  aft  and 
gauged  with  his  hand  the  stretch  of  the  line  from 
bitts  to  taffrail  as  it  grated  back  and  forth  over  the 
smooth  wood. 

"A  new  line  ought  never  to  be  stretched  more 
than  six  inches  to  a  fathom,"  he  shouted  in  Scotty's 
ear  when  he  returned.  "  It  kills  it,  and  the  next 
strain  parts  it.  I'm  going  to  slow  down." 

He  moved  towards  the  bell-pull  in  the  after-end  of 
the  house,  but  then,  as  though  deciding  to  inform 
the  engineer  by  word  of  mouth,  passed  on  to  the 
engine-room  door.  Scotty,  bowing  to  the  blast,  saw 
him  enter  the  engine-room,  and  then  heard  faintly 
from  within  the  sound  of  a  bell. 

"  One  bell,"  he  muttered.  "  That's  to  slow  down ; 
but  why  does  he  go  below  to  ring  bells." 

Another  stroke  of  the  bell  came  to  him,  then  two 
more  in  quick  succession. 

"The  stoppin'  and  backin'  bells!"  he  exclaimed. 
"What's  up?" 

76 


The  Wave 

An  indistinguishable  cry,  containing,  however,  a 
note  of  warning,  came  out  of  the  darkness  forward, 
then  the  slamming  of  a  door.  He  looked,  as  he 
could,  against  the  pelting  rain  and  spume,  and  saw  a 
high  wall  of  blacker  darkness  lifting  up  ahead.  The 
next  instant  the  tug  stood  on  her  tail.  And  even  as 
he  slid,  blindly  groping  for  support,  towards  the 
tafTrail,  Scotty  felt  the  vibration  of  the  reversed 
engine  in  the  deck.  Then  he  was  struck  by  an  av 
alanche  of  water  that  lifted  him  clear  of  everything, 
buried  him,  and  swept  him  away.  Choking  for  air 
in  the  black  envelope  surrounding  him,  he  yet  knew 
that  he  was  overboard,  and  with  presence  of  mind 
borne  of  large  experience,  he  kicked  off  his  rubber 
boots,  and  struggled  with  his  last  remnants  of 
strength  with  the  buttons  of  his  oil-skins.  Soon  he 
was  free  of  these,  and  he  swam,  with  the  unerring 
instinct  of  a  dying  animal  seeking  life,  upward— 
towards  the  air  that  he  needed.  He  shot  head  and 
shoulders  out,  and  as  he  plunged  back  a  breaking 
sea  submerged  him  still  farther ;  but  he  had  obtained 
one  good  mouthful  of  air,  and  it  sufficed  until  he 
again  came  to  the  surface,  when  he  paddled,  rested, 
and  breathed. 

He  could  see  nothing  of  the  tug  nor  her  lights. 
They  were  extinguished,  no  doubt,  by  the  terrible 
tidal-wave  that  had  struck  her.  Then  it  came  to 
him  that  a  wave  that  could  reach  up  to  the  mast 
head  lights  would  leave  but  little  of  the  tug.  It 
would  crush  in  her  house  and  her  deck,  beat  her 

77 


Land    Ho! 

down,  fill  her,  and  sink  her.  All  hands  were  below 
at  the  time;  they  had  gone  down  with  her.  Of  all 
that  crew  of  friendly  men  there  was  not  one  alive 
to  know  of  his  predicament  and  to  help  him.  He 
turned  and  swam  to  leeward,  now  looking  for  lights 
or  shadowy  shapes  of  the  barges  as  the  seas  lifted 
him,  holding  his  breath  as  they  broke  over  him— 
shouting,  shouting,  hailing  for  help. 

There  came  a  thought  to  cheer  him.  They  had 
been  well  within  the  hundred-fathom  curve.  The 
tow-line  was  new,  securely  fastened  to  the  bitts  of 
both  craft,  and  ninety  fathoms  long.  If  it  had  not 
parted  as  the  wall  of  water  struck  the  Champion,  and 
she  still  floated,  she  was  riding  to  it,  with  the  tug 
for  an  anchor — stationary,  but  far  away.  Of  course 
he  could  not  see  her;  she  was  nearly  ninety  fath 
oms  to  leeward,  and  her  lights  must  be  out.  He 
swam  with  redoubled  vigor,  breasting  the  sea  with 
long,  powerful  strokes,  and  making  actual  progress, 
through  that  angry  turmoil,  of  two  feet  a  second. 
His  mind,  supremely  active  from  the  peril,  reduced 
fathoms  to  feet  and  speed  to  minutes.  If  the  Cham 
pion  still  floated,  anchored  to  the  sunken  tug,  he 
should  reach  her  in  twenty  minutes;  if  she  was 
drifting,  his  battle  would  be  longer.  He  began 
counting  his  strokes. 

Twenty  minutes  passed  by  his  calculation,  and 
still  he  stared  at  blank  darkness,  unrelieved  by 
aught  but  the  phosphorescent  gleam  of  breaking 
seas;  then  twenty-five,  then  thirty,  and  the  strong, 

78 


The   Wave 

desperate  swimmer  was  about  to  give  up,  when  he 
made  out  a  cluster,  or  centralization,  of  the  phos 
phorescent  gleams  far  ahead  and  a  little  to  the 
right.  He  swam  towards  it,  abating  nothing  of  the 
furious  energy  of  his  strokes,  and  soon  distinguished 
a  vague  shape  above  them.  It  was  one  of  the 
barges,  adrift  in  the  trough,  and  it  was  the  wash  of 
the  sea  along  her  side  that  had  lighted  the  way  to 
her.  "God  be  thankit,"  he  groaned,  hoarsely,  then 
shouted:  "Barge,  ahoy  —  ahoy!  On  board  the 
barge!  Man  overboard!" 

There  was  no  answering  shout,  and,  saving  his 
breath,  he  swam  on.  Soon  he  could  see  that  she  lay 
stern  towards  him,  and  he  knew  by  the  shape  of  the 
stern  that  it  was  the  Champion.  And  he  knew  that 
there  was  nothing  fixed  or  pendant  to  which  he  could 
cling,  or  by  which  he  could  climb,  nearer  than  the 
bob-stays  at  the  other  end  of  her.  And  towards  this 
end  he  swam,  shouting  occasionally,  but  getting  no 
answer.  There  was  not  a  light  showing;  all  hands 
were  below,  no  doubt.  Of  what  need  were  lights  and 
lookout  on  such  a  night  as  this.  He  swam  under 
the  bowsprit,  watched  his  chance  as  the  barge  buried 
her  bow,  and,  seizing  the  chain  bobstays  as  high  as 
he  could,  was  lifted  up  as  she  rose.  Once  before  he 
had  done  this  trick,  and  he  knew  better  how  to  do 
it  now.  He  was  doused  but  twice,  and  then  reached 
the  bowsprit,  where  he  clung  for  breath  a  scant 
moment  before  scrambling  inboard.  His  movement 
from  the  knight-heads  to  the  break  of  the  forecastle - 

79 


Land   Ho! 

deck  was  on  hands  and  knees,  and  his  descent  of  the 
steps  a  headlong  lurch. 

An  hour  later  he  wakened  from  the  swoon,  and 
with  every  bone  and  joint  in  his  body  aching  from 
the  violent  strain  put  upon  them,  made  his  way 
towards  the  forecastle  door.  He  found  a  misshapen 
pile  of  wreckage  in  place  of  the  forward-house.  Feel 
ing  his  way  aft  in  the  darkness,  calling  out  as  he 
went,  he  came  upon  the  midship  -  capstan  rolling 
about  in  the  port  scuppers.  Ropes  washed  from  the 
pins  and  capstan  -  bars  from  the  racks  littered  the 
deck.  The  poop-steps  were  gone,  and  the  forward 
side  of  the  cabin  was  crushed  in,  but  he  shouted  in 
through  the  apertures  before  mounting  the  sacred 
poop-deck.  Going  aft  he  found  the  wheel  and  bin 
nacle  intact ;  but  the  lights  were  out,  and  the  green 
and  red  lights  on  the  quarter,  screens  and  all,  were 
gone,  while  the  boat  had  been  torn  from  the  da 
vits  at  the  stern.  The  Anita's  steel- wire  tow-line 
hung  up  and  down  from  the  chock  in  the  taffrail, 
proving  its  disconnection  from  the  Anita,  and  on 
going  forward  again  Scotty  found  that  the  brand- 
new  manila  tow-line  that  Captain  Anson  had  been  so 
proud  of  had  parted  at  the  bitts.  The  force  of  the 
wave  that  had  swamped  a  tug,  swept  a  deck  of 
fittings  and  crew,  and  parted  that  big  rope  must  have 
been  terrific,  but  could  best  be  indicated  by  the 
capstan  rolling  in  the  scuppers.  Worn  out  in  body 
and  mind,  Scotty  crept  beneath  the  forecastle-deck 
and  went  to  sleep.  He  had  saved  his  own  life,  but 

80 


The   Wave 

had  not  strength  to  speculate  on  the  fate  of  others. 
It  was  high  noon  when  he  aroused  himself,  and, 
stiff  and  sore,  crawled  out  to  the  dismantled  and 
deserted  deck.  The  wind  still  blew  briskly  from  the 
southeast,  and  the  barge  still  wallowed  in  the  trough 
of  a  sea  that  showed  an  occasional  comber,  but  the 
gale  was  over.  Seaman-like,  Scotty's  first  look  was 
aloft,  and  he  noted  with  gratification  that  the  three 
new  mutton-leg  sails,  brailed  in  to  the  masts,  and 
the  furled  jib  on  the  bowsprit,  seemed  uninjured  by 
the  wash  of  water,  though  sagging  baglike  in  their 
fastenings.  They  had  stretched  and  given  to  the 
blow,  unlike  the  rigid  capstan  that  had  resisted.  Be 
fore  going  further,  he  lashed  this  rolling  mass  of  iron 
securely  to  a  ring-bolt,  where  it  could  do  no  harm. 
He  inspected  the  interior  of  the  wrecked  forward- 
house.  No  one,  living  or  dead,  was  in  the  fore 
castle,  carpenter  -  shop,  or  galley,  and  he  surmised 
by  the  condition  of  loose  articles  that  the  barge,  too, 
had  stood  on  end  when  the  sea  struck.  He  found 
the  cabin  deserted,  and  every  apartment  and  state 
room  in  it  more  or  less  drenched  and  upset.  He 
filled  his  empty  stomach  with  good  cabin  food  from 
the  store-room,  then,  securing  the  skipper's  binocu 
lars,  he  climbed  to  the  poop  by  the  after-companion 
and  searched  the  horizon.  Off  the  north  and  west 
were  a  few  sailing  craft,  and  to  the  south  the  smoke  of 
a  steamer — all  too  far  away  for  signalling.  Directly 
to  windward,  rising  and  falling  in  the  trough,  about 
a  mile  away,  was  a  craft  that  at  first  glance  looked 

81 


Land   Ho! 

like  a  house  -  boat  adrift,  but  which,  after  a  keen 
scrutiny,  Scotty  knew  for  the  tug — low  in  the  water, 
and  minus  her  funnel.  But  there  was  no  sign  of  the 
Anita,  unless  she  was  one  of  the  craft  on  the  hori 
zon  making  port  under  sail. 

A  six-foot  able  seaman  may  do  some  heavy  work 
with  purchases.  With  the  aid  of  a  watch -tackle, 
Scotty  set  the  three  mutton-legs  and  the  jib.  The 
mutton-legs  had  booms,  which  would  swing  free  for 
either  tack,  but  the  jib,  inasmuch  as  he  could  not 
attend  to  it  when  wearing  ship,  as  he  would  need  to 
in  that  sea,  he  trimmed  down  amidships  with  both 
sheets,  making  of  it  a  good  balancing  sail,  but  de 
priving  it  of  driving  power.  Then  he  began  a  beat 
to  windward,  and  three  hours  later,  by  the  simple 
operation  of  hauling  aft  his  spanker-sheet  as  he  luffed, 
hove  the  barge  to  under  the  lee  of  the  tug,  and  within 
hailing  distance. 

"  Hallo  -o-o-o,  Scotty,"  came  Captain  Anson's 
voice  from  the  bridge,  where  he  stood,  looking 
through  his  glasses.  "  How'd  you  get  there? 
You're  born  to  be  hung,  you  Scotchman.  Are 
you  alone?" 

"Ay,  all  alone.  All  hands  washed  off,  I  s'pose. 
I  swum  it." 

A  spontaneous  cheer — each  man  for  himself — had 
arisen  from  the  tug's  crew  when  the  captain  had 
hailed  Scotty  by  name,  bxit  his  answer  silenced  it. 

"What's  wrong  wi'  ye?"  asked  Scotty,  at  length. 

"  Half  full  o'  water,  boat  and  funnel  gone,  pumps 

82 


The   Wave 

out  o'  gear,  and  the  tow-line  fouled  up  in  the  screw. 
We  were  backing,  and  backed  over  it." 

"Ay,  I  remember  the  bells.  What  aboot  the 
Anita,  seen  her?" 

"Saw  her  makin'  for  port  early  this  morning. 
Couldn't  see  us,  I  suppose,  and  expected  you  to 
follow." 

"  Well,  what's  to  be  done,  cappen  ?  If  I  had  your 
line  I  could  tow  you  in  wi'  this  good  fair  wind.  How 
can  I  get  it?" 

"  I  can  float  a  heavin'  -  line  down  to  you  on  a 
fender." 

"  Ay,  but  if  I  could  get  it  I  couldna  get  the  tow- 
line  up,  and  steer,  and  handle  sail  at  the  same  time. 
S'pose  you  try  to  get  the  Anita's  line  here"  —  he 
indicated  the  dragging  steel  -  wire  rope  hanging 
from  the  taffrail.  "You've  got  the  men." 

"  How  long  is  it,  Scotty  ?" 

"  Don't  know,  but  I'll  tell  ye  what.  I'll  fill  away, 
and  come  back  nearer  to  ye  and  headin'  your  way. 
Throw  me  a  heavin'-line  as  I  pass,  and  I'll  make  a 
bow- line  on  the  line,  and  you  can  get  the  bight.  I'll 
luff  around  ye,  and  if  it's  lang  enough,  make  it  fast 
to  your  nigger-head  forrard,  and  I'll  fill  away." 

"Good  enough,  Scotty.     Go  ahead." 

Scotty  let  fly  his  spanker-sheet,  and  the  barge, 
falling  off,  gathered  way.  He  made  a  long-board 
to  the  northeast  until  he  judged  that  he  had  the 
weather  -  gauge,  then  wore  ship  and  came  back 
with  a  "good  full,"  steering  so  as  to  pass  close 

83 


Land   Ho! 

under  the  lee  of  the  tug,  whose  head  lay  to  the 
southwest.  It  was  really  an  easy  job ;  the  Champion 
was  an  old  half -clipper,  clean-lined,  not  too  deep- 
laden  for  good  steering,  and  under  just  about  the 
right  amount  of  canvas  for  the  wind  that  blew. 
Scotty  caught  the  heaving -line  as  it  whirled  over 
his  head,  hurriedly  cast  a  running  bow-line  (a  slip- 
noose)  about  the  dragging  tow-line,  and  as  the 
tug  men  pulled,  ground  the  wheel  down  and  luffed 
around  the  Proserpine's  bow.  The  barge  lost 
way  as  her  canvas  rattled  in  the  wind,  and,  as  he 
could  not  now  depend  upon  steerage  way,  he  ran 
forward,  ready  to  manipulate  the  jib  should  she  fall 
off  to  port  and  threaten  to  drift  down  upon  the  tug. 
But  this  did  not  happen;  she  lay  steady,  head  to 
wind,  and  soon  began  making  sternway.  Then,  as 
she  slowly  sagged  back  and  brought  the  Proserpine 
abeam,  a  shout  went  up  from  the  tug,  and  he  saw 
that  they  had  the  end,  and  were  taking  it  forward 
to  the  nigger-head,  or  mooring-bitt,  in  the  bow.  He 
hauled  the  jib  to  port,  and,  running  aft,  slacked  off 
the  spanker  and  took  the  wheel.  It  took  ten 
minutes  after  the  line  had  tautened  for  the  barge 
to  straighten  around  with  such  a  drag  on  her  stern, 
but  as  she  slowly  forged  ahead  her  rudder  helped, 
and  soon  she  was  before  the  wind.  Then  Scotty 
slacked  off  the  sheets  and  took  the  wheel  again. 
When  darkness  closed  down  he  picked  up  the  re 
volving  search -light  on  Navesink  Highlands,  and, 
later,  Sandy  Hook  Light.  He  did  not  stop  for  a 

84 


The   Wave 

pilot  at  the  Light-ship;  he  could  not  have  stopped 
had  he  wished  to.  For  the  wind  had  again  become  a 
gale,  and  his  sails  were  jibing  from  side  to  side  as  the 
barge  yawed,  necessitating  his  whole  attention  to 
the  steering.  But  he  knew  the  way  in,  and  once  in 
the  Swash  Channel,  and  past  the  dangerous  Romer 
Shoal,  he  took  advantage  of  a  smooth  time  and  clear 
track,  and,  by  a  mighty  effort  of  his  great  strength, 
succeeded  in  brailing  in  the  spanker.  Then,  resting 
as  he  steered,  he  sailed  into  the  comparatively  smooth 
water  of  Gravesend  Bay,  and  here  he  took  in  the 
mainsail — the  dragging  weight  of  the  tug  keeping 
the  barge  fairly  on  her  course  while  he  worked.  Pass 
ing  craft  hailed  him,  and  a  belated  tug  or  two  crept 
up  alongside,  offering  assistance,  but  he  discouraged 
all  overtures.  He  had  conquered  the  wind  and  the 
sea ;  he  had  mastered  the  spanker  and  the  mainsail, 
and  was  presumably  equal  to  the  foresail  and  the  jib. 
There  was  still  the  unsolved  problem  of  the  anchor ; 
but  if  he  could  not  pry  it  off  the  rail  he  could  beach 
the  barge  to  the  north  of  the  anchorage  at  Tomp- 
kinsville.  Simple-minded  though  he  was,  he  would 
have  been  less  than  Scotch  had  he  not  been  impressed 
with  the  legal  possibilities  of  the  situation. 

In  the  Narrows  he  took  in  the  foresail,  and  made 
a  hurried  inspection  of  the  big  anchor.  It  had  been 
"fished,"  but  not  stowed  inboard;  it  hung  by  its 
ring-stopper  and  the  corner  of  its  upper  fluke,  the 
latter  resting  in  a  grooved  casting  on  the  rail  from 
which  it  would  slide  when  the  former  was  slipped. 

85 


Land   Ho! 

Shouting  joyously,  he  again  took  the  wheel,  and 
steered  the  drifting  craft  up  to  the  crowded  an 
chorage,  where,  picking  a  good  spot,  he  unlocked  the 
windlass,  dropped  the  anchor,  and  gave  her  chain. 
When  the  anchor  bit  and  enough  was  out,  he  stowed 
the  jib,  saw  that  the  tug  was  anchored,  hailed  her 
and  cast  off  the  wire  tow-line  with  a  fender  for  a 
buoy,  ate  some  supper,  and  turned  in. 

In  the  morning  when  he  appeared  on  deck  he 
found  a  gray  gale  of  wind  blowing  from  the  northeast, 
and  the  barge,  with  every  craft  at  the  anchorage, 
tailing  inshore  against  the  pressure  of  the  ebb-tide. 
Among  these  craft  he  recognized  the  missing  Anita, 
and  as  he  looked  a  boat  left  her  side,  propelled  by 
four  oars,  and  containing  three  men  in  the  stern, 
who,  as  it  drew  near,  he  recognized  as  Captain  An- 
son,  Captain  Bolt,  of  the  Anita,  and  Mr.  Steiner, 
the  owner.  He  took  and  secured  the  painter  as  it 
was  thrown  up,  then  assisted  them  over  the  rail. 
Captain  Anson  immediately  seized  his  hand,  gripped 
it  fiercely,  but  said  nothing.  Captain  Bolt  did  the 
same,  but  uttered  the  words,  "  Good  for  you, 
Scotty."  Then  Mr.  Steiner,  smiling  painfully  under 
his  bandaged  nose,  offered  his  hand  (which  Scotty 
politely  received)  and  said,  in  a  strained  voice,  as 
though  the  speech  cost  an  effort,  "  I  hear  some  very 
good  things  of  you,  Mr.  McPherson." 

"Ay,  and  is  that  so,  Mr.  Steiner?"  asked  Scotty. 

"Ya-as.  I  hear  that  you  swam  from  my  tug  to 
my  barge  and  saved  your  life ;  but  you  would  have 

86 


The  Wave 

been  drowned,  wouldn't  you,  if  my  barge  had  not 
been  right  there?" 

"And  if  he  hadn't  been  right  there,  Mr.  Steiner," 
broke  in  Captain  Anson,  warmly,  "  your  barge  and 
your  tug  would  be  going  to  pieces  on  the  beach  now." 

"Yes  —  yes,"  said  the  owner,  hurriedly.  "We 
needn't  discuss  that  any  more.  Of  course,  Mr. 
McPherson,  you  will  admit  that  you  had  no  business 
on  my  tug — that  your  peril  arose  from  your  being 
there,  and  that  the  providential  proximity  of  the 
Champion  was  your  salvation." 

"  Ay,  I  suppose  so,"  replied  the  nonplussed  Scotty. 
"  I  couldn't  ha'  swum  much  lang-ger." 

"Hush,  you  weak-minded  Highlander,"  said 
Captain  Anson,  quickly.  "  You  were  not  a  member 
of  the  barge's  crew,  and  you  were  not  one  of  my  men, 
and  have  saved  both  craft.  Don't  spoil  your  case." 

"Well,  I've  a  counter-claim  for  saving  his  life," 
spluttered  the  owner,  the  smile  on  his  face  giving 
way  to  the  easier  scowl.  "You're  not  working  for 
my  interest,  Captain  Anson." 

"You  forget,  Mr.  Steiner,  that  you  discharged  me 
half  an  hour  ago,  and  have  not  reinstated  me." 

"And  I  won't,"  answered  the  owner,  bitterly — 
"either  one  of  you." 

"  Very  well.  Then  Bolt  and  I  will  be  witnesses  for 
Scotty.  His  presence  on  the  tug  did  not  bring  about 
the  peril  to  himself  or  to  your  property ;  it  was  the 
tidal- wave,  and  Bolt  knows  what  it  was." 

"That  I  do,"  said  the  other  skipper.  "Nothing 

87 


Land   Ho! 

could  stand  before  it.  The  tow-line  snapped  like 
a  thread,  and  we  nearly  turned  a  somersault." 

"Well,  what  do  you  want?"  inquired  Mr.  Steiner, 
patting  the  air  with  both  hands  in  his  agitation. 
"You  are  all  against  me — three  against  one.  You 
are  trying  to  ruin  me,  and  I  am  a  poor  man 
already.  Father  in  heaven,  how  much  do  you 
want?" 

"Want  my  tug  back  and  a  two  years'  contract. 
I've  a  family." 

"  Same  here,"  said  Captain  Bolt.  "  My  barge  and 
a  contract." 

"And  you,"  said  the  owner,  glaring  at  Scotty. 

"  He  wants  the  salvage  on  the  Champion  and  the 
tug,"  said  Captain  Anson,  speaking  for  him,  "  less  the 
possible  expenses  of  a  suit,  which  might  as  well  stay 
in  your  pockets  as  go  to  the  lawyers.  And  he  wants  a 
two  years'  contract  as  skipper  o'  the  Champion.  She's 
lost  all  hands,  and  you'll  need  a  skipper  anyhow." 

"  Stick  to  the  point.  How  much  do  you  want  to 
sign  a  quit -claim  on  salvage?"  said  the  owner, 
desperately. 

"Let's  see  what  he  wants,"  said  the  tug  captain, 
making  figures  in  a  note-book,  while  Scotty  looked 
on  in  sheer  bewilderment.  "Salvage,  Mr.  Steiner," 
added  the  captain,  when  he  had  finished,  and  closed 
the  note-book,  "is  usually  a  third  of  the  property 
saved  when  the  case  is  as  clear  as  this.  You  know 
the  market  value  of  your  tug  and  barge,  and  there 
would  be  a  couple  of  thousand  bilked  by  the  lawyers, 

88 


The   Wave 

which  I  have  deducted.  Got  your  check- book  with 
you?" 

"Yes,  but  wait—" 

"Got  your  receipt-book?" 

"Yes,  I  have,"  answered  the  distracted  Mr. 
Steiner.  "  But  I  will  not  do  business  here.  This  is 
no  place.  I  must  see  my  lawyer." 

"You  can  see  him  later.  Make  out  a  check  to 
Scotty  for  this  amount  " — he  opened  the  note-book 
before  the  owner's  face — "  and  a  receipt  for  the  same, 
which  Scotty  will  sign,  and  give  us  our  contracts,  on 
any  old  paper  we  find  below,  and  it's  all  off,  Mr. 
Steiner.  Otherwise  we'll  see  a  lawyer — our  lawyer." 

"No,"  shrieked  the  owner,  as  he  looked  at  the 
figures,  "  I  will  not.  It  is  robbery — robbery — pure 
and  simple.  I  will  not.  I  will  fight  you  in  the 
courts." 

"All  right.  Come  on,  Bolt.  Come  on,  Scotty. 
I  know  a  good  lawyer  ashore." 

They  moved  towards  the  rail,  and  Captain  Anson 
had  descended  to  the  boat  when  the  owner  spoke 
again.  And  he  spoke  in  accents  of  grief  and  rage, 
with  tears  trickling  from  his  eyes  down  over  the 
bandages  on  his  nose. 

"Wait.  I  cannot  afford  publicity.  It  is  pure 
robbery,"  said  the  owner,  brokenly;  "and  I  am  a 
ruined  man,  but  I  must  pay.  I  will  give  you  your 
contracts." 

"I  see,"  said  the  captain,  climbing  back.  "Pub 
licity  is  bad,  sometimes  —  for  bankrupts.  You 

89 


Land   Ho! 

shouldn't  do  business  under  your  own  name,  Mr. 
Steiner.  Captain  McPherson,"  he  said,  gravely  and 
politely,  to  Scotty,  "  will  you  invite  us  down  into 
your  cabin?" 

"Ay.  But  what  does  it  all  amount  to?"  said 
Scotty,  as  he  looked  at  the  retreating  figure  of  the 
owner  making  aft.  "  How  much  do  I  get  ?  Enough 
to  help  oot  the  old  mither?" 

Captain  Anson  opened  the  note-book  and  pointed 
to  the  page  on  which  he  had  made  his  calculations. 
"How  many  hours  did  you  work?"  he  asked. 

"Aboot  twenty-four,  counting  the  swim,"  said 
Scotty;  then  he  read,  with  popping  eyes,  the  figures 
indicated  by  the  captain's  forefinger. 

"I'm  going  to  send  you  a  bill  for  the  door  you 
smashed,  Scotty,"  said  the  captain,  with  a  smile. 
"  But  aren't  you  glad  you  didn't  catch  him?  Your 
bill  is  a  thousand  an  hour." 

"Twinty-foor  thousand  dollars!"  said  Scotty,  his 
eyes  devouring  the  page.  Then  came,  in  a  choking 
gasp,  the  word  "Mither." 


The    Cook    and    the   Captain 


WE  had  towed  down  nearly  to  Sandy  Hook  before 
the  steward,  who  had  been  busy  in  the  cabin, 
discovered  that  his  subordinate,  the  ship's  cook,  had 
deserted  at  the  dock,  leaving  an  important  incum 
bency  unfilled.  As  Captain  Sutherland  informed 
me,  a  ship  can  go  to  sea  without  a  mate  or  a  skip 
per,  but  not  without  a  cook;  so  it  was  manifestly 
necessary  that  we  wait  at  anchor  in  the  Horseshoe 
while  he  went  back  in  the  tug  for  another. 

He  was  like  the  ship  he  commanded — tall  and  well- 
proportioned.  He  had  a  full,  blond  beard  and  a 
shock  of  thick,  flaxen  hair ;  he  had  a  voice  to  waken 
the  dead  and  an  eye  that  was  hard  to  meet  (it  seem 
ed  to  search  into  you — to  hunt  down  and  nail  the  lie 
you  had  not  meant  to  tell) ;  he  was  taciturn,  but 
not  ill-tempered,  gentlemanly,  of  good  address  when 
he  spoke,  well-read,  and  educated  far  above  the  re 
quirements  of  seafaring  —  his  education,  it  seemed, 
stopping  only  at  the  languages,  an  attempt  to  learn 
Norwegian,  the  tongue  of  his  viking  ancestry,  as  he 
informed  me  in  our  first  interview,  having  signally 

91 


Land   Ho! 

failed.  For  the  rest,  he  was  an  American,  and  as  he 
stepped  down  the  side-ladder  to  the  tug,  clad  in  a 
sober  business  suit  of  gray,  he  looked  like  nothing  so 
much  as  a  prosperous  manufacturer.  His  first  mate 
resembled  him  in  size,  noisiness,  and  professional 
efficiency,  but  differed  from  him  in  everything  else. 
Mr.  Rollins,  when  sober,  was  a  capable  first  officer, 
but,  drunk  or  sober,  a  brute — a  "bucko,"  as  sailors 
call  his  kind.  He  had  offered  to  go  up  instead  of  the 
captain  to  ship  the  new  cook. 

"  No,  Mr.  Rollins,"  said  the  captain,  gravely.  "  I'd 
only  have  to  follow  and  look  for  you.  Besides,  I've 
other  business  to  attend  to  that  I'd  forgotten.  This 
will  allow  me  to  close  it  up.  If  I  don't  come  down 
with  the  cook  in  the  tug,  I'll  come  down  later  by  rail, 
and  hail  you  from  the  government  dock  inshore. 
Watch  out  for  me." 

"Curious  man  doctor,"  said  the  mate  to  me,  as 
the  tug  steamed  away.  "This  is  my  third  v'yage 
with  him,  and  I've  never  seen  the  inside  o'  the  after- 
cabin." 

"Why,  is  it  usual,"  I  asked,  idly — I  did  not  like 
the  fellow,  but  could  not  decline  his  society — "for 
officers  to  have  the  run  of  the  captain's  apartments  ?" 

"  No,"  he  answered,  "  not  the  run  of  them ;  but  he 
won't  be  called  in  bad  weather.  That's  his  bargain 
with  me — that  I'm  to  be  competent  to  shorten  sail 
and  take  care  o'  the  ship  without  him.  I'm  that,  all 
right,  but  skippers  are  usually  overanxious.  This 
one  won't  come  on  deck  till  he  wants  to,  and  I've 

92 


The   Cook    and    the   Captain 

seen  her  hove  down  in  a  China  typhoon,  and  him 
below.  He  sleeps  daytimes  a  good  deal,  and  noses 
round  deck  nights.  'Mother  rule  is,  and  I'll  give  it 
to  you:  Don't  tramp  over  his  head,  starboard  side 
aft." 

I  thanked  him  for  the  information  and  left  him ; 
for  it  had  begun  to  rain,  and  as  I  was  an  invalid 
physician,  taking  a  sea- voyage  on  my  own  prescrip 
tion,  I  knew  my  room  was  the  best  place  for  me.  It 
was  off  the  dining-room,  in  the  forward  cabin,  and  I 
remained  in  it  through  that  night  and  the  following 
forenoon,  nursing  my  rheumatism,  and  listening  to 
the  sound  of  rain  increasing  to  the  sound  of  storm, 
which  by  mid-day  had  become  a  gale  from  the  west. 
Over  the  steady  song  of  the  wind  arose  at  intervals 
the  louder  roar  of  the  mate  on  deck,  cursing  and  be 
rating  the  men  in  the  pleasant  task  of  breaking  them 
in  to  his  ways,  and  late  in  the  afternoon  a  change  of 
cadence  in  the  roaring  tones  brought  me  on  deck. 
The  tug  was  coming,  a  dim  shape  on  the  port  quarter, 
barely  outlined  in  the  smudge  of  rain  and  spoondrift. 
Along  the  rail  were  perched  men  with  fenders,  and 
forward  on  the  forecastle-deck  Mr.  Rollins  was  over 
seeing  the  job,  and  again  bawling  profanity  at  the 
men.  Here  he  remained  while  a  big,  blond,  limp,  and 
unsteady  man  in  a  gray  business  suit  was  assisted  up 
the  side  amidships,  and  hurried  into  the  galley  by 
the  waiting  steward.  Then  Mr.  Rollins  came  aft, 
peeping  into  the  galley  on  the  way,  and  joined  me  on 
the  poop. 

93 


Land    Ho! 

"  Did  the  skipper  come  aft  ?"  he  inquired. 

"No,  if  that  was  him.  The  steward  seems  to  be 
taking  good  care  of  him." 

"Hell  of  a  how-de-do,"  he  grunted,  disgustedly. 
"  Wouldn't  trust  me  to — '  The  rest  was  lost  as  he 
walked  away ;  but  I  sensed  it,  and  while  I  shared  the 
captain's  distrust  of  him,  I  also  shared  his  disgust  for 
the  captain.  A  drinking  officer  may  be  kept  sober 
at  sea.  Not  so  a  captain. 

A  man  had  climbed  aboard,  and  now  mounted  the 
poop-steps  and  accosted  Mr.  Rollins. 

"You're  der  mate,  ain't  you?"  he  asked,  produc 
ing  a  couple  of  documents.  "  Yoost  sign  dis  receipt 
for  der  cook — and  here's  der  ship's  articles  der  skip 
per  gi'  me."  Mr.  Rollins  took  the  papers. 

"  Sign  for  the  cook  ?"  he  said.     "  Where  is  he  ?" 

"  Yoost  passed  him  up.  I'm  der  shippin'-master 
dat  shipped  der  crew,  and  der  skipper  was  busy  this 
morning — yoost  gi'  me  der  articles  and  told  me  to 
sign  and  bring  down  a  cook." 

"This  is  the  articles  all  right,"  said  the  mate, 
scanning  the  papers,  "and  this  is  a  receipt  for  one 
Lars  Hansen,  cook.  But  you  passed  up  the  skipper, 
not  a  cook." 

"No,"  said  the  shipping-master,  earnestly.  "He 
looks  like  der  skipper,  but  he's  a  Norwegian,  like  me, 
and  a  cook.  He  didn't  come  out  o'  der  same  house 
as  der  rest,  but  I  shipped  him  'fore  der  commis 


sioner." 


I  say,  mate,"  called  the  tug  captain  from  his 
94 


The   Cook    and    the   Captain 

pilot-house.  "  Going  out  with  this  good  fair  wind, 
or  will  you  wait  till  he  sobers  up  ?" 

"Who'd  you  bring  down,"  asked  the  mate  — 
"Captain  Sutherland  or  a  cook?" 

"  Both,  didn't  I  ?  Skipper  full  as  a  goat,  and  the 
cook  takin'  care  of  him." 

"  This  fellow's  a  crimp.    Didn't  you  bring  a  cook  ?" 

"  Not  unless  he's  one.  I  thought  he  was  the  cook 
we  went  for." 

"Get  off  this  poop,"  roared  the  angry  officer. 
"Get  over  the  side,  blast  you.  This  beats  all  my 
time — shanghain'  a  skipper  aboard  of  his  own  ship 
as  cook.  Get  aboard  that  tug." 

The  mate  pushed  the  shipping-master,  threatened 
with  his  big  fist,  silenced  his  protesting  voice  in  a 
torrent  of  profane  abuse,  and  bore  him  along  by  the 
very  force  of  his  masterful  personality  to  the  poop- 
steps,  down  which  he  followed  him,  still  threatening 
and  cursing  him.  The  shipping-master,  dazed  by 
the  outpouring  of  wrath,  sped  to  the  rail  and  mount 
ed  it,  chagrin  and  astonishment  showing  on  his  dull, 
flat  face. 

"By  der  living  Gawd,"  he  cried,  "I'll  fix  you  for 
this.  What  der  hell's  der  matter  wi'  you — hey? 
You're  crazy -house." 

Mr.  Rollins  threw  a  belaying- pin  at  him,  and  he 
dropped  down  to  the  tug,  where  I  heard  him  in  angry 
altercation  with  the  tug  captain.  I  was  unused  to 
such  scenes,  and  left  the  deck,  but  I  could  hear 
through  my  state-room  window  the  voice  of  the  mate 

95 


Land   Ho ! 

directing  the  tug  captain  to  hang  on  alongside  until 
the  captain  came  on  deck  or  a  cook  came  down,  and 
the  tug  captain's  protest  that  there  would  be  a  bill 
of  demurrage  against  the  owners  for  the  delay. 

At  a  late  supper  the  mate  facetiously  asked  the 
overworked  steward  how  the  patient  was  getting  on, 
and  the  tired  man  answered :  "  Drunk  still,  or  doped 
—stretched  out  like  a  log  in  the  cook's  room.  I  can't 
get  a  word  out  of  him,  sir.  I  wish  he'd  wake  up  and 
do  something.  I  can't  stand  this  much  longer." 

"Yes,  steward,"  answered  the  mate.  "But  you 
know  his  rule — that  he's  not  to  be  called.  You  did 
right  to  get  him  out  of  sight  of  the  men,  though.  Let 
him  take  his  time." 

The  steward  opened  his  eyes  and  looked  curiously 
at  him,  but  said  nothing,  and  soon  left  the  cabin. 

"  If  he's  doped,  Mr.  Rollins,"  I  ventured,  "  I  think 
we  ought  to  look  at  him." 

"We  will,  after  supper,"  he  responded. 

We  did  so.  The  steward,  busy  with  a  pile  of  pots 
and  pans,  received  us  at  the  galley  door,  and  pointed 
in  through  another  to  where,  on  a  berth  in  a  small, 
adjoining  room,  lay  the  big,  gray-clad  figure  that  had 
come  on  board.  *,  We  entered  and  stood  by  the  berth. 
The  gray  suit  was  soiled  and  disfigured,  the  linen 
filthy,  the  breath  reeking  of  whiskey ;  but  there  was 
no  dilation  to  the  pupils  of  the  eyes — nothing  ab 
normal  in  the  regular  breathing.  It  was  Captain 
Sutherland,  or  his  double,  disgracefully  drunk,  but 
not  drugged. 

96 


The   Cook    and    the   Captain 

"  I  wish  he'd  wake  up  and  help,"  said  the  steward, 
drying  a  huge  pot  with  a  cloth.  "  I'm  all  tired  out." 

"Help?"  said  the  mate,  looking  round  at  him. 
"Why,  it's  the  skipper." 

"No,  Mr.  Rollins,"  answered  the  steward,  ear 
nestly.  "  I  thought  so  when  he  came  aboard,  but 
Uiis  fellow  can't  speak  English." 

"Too  drunk,  you  blamed  fool,"  said  the  mate, 
contemptuously.  "Don't  you  s'pose  I  know  the 
skipper  after  two  v'yages — and  the  clothes  he  wears  ? 
Why,  I  know  the  place  he  bought  that  suit  in  Liver 
pool.  See  the  English  cut  to  the  lapels?" 

"You're  mistaken,  sir,"  protested  the  steward, 
backing  into  the  galley  with  his  pot.  "That's  a 
Sou'wegian,  the  dead  image  of  Captain  Sutherland, 
I  know ;  but  he's  a  cook.  Why,  drunk  as  he  was,  he 
knew  where  the  cook's  berth  was,  and  floundered 
right  into  it." 

"If  I  didn't  know,"  said  the  mate,  eying  him 
sternly,  "that  you're  a  fool,  and  an  honest  man  as 
fools  go,  I'd  think  you  were  in  cahoots  with  that 
crimp.  Let's  get  out  o'  here,  doctor.  Let  him 
sleep,  steward,"  he  said,  as  we  left. 

Obviously,  with  the  captain  returned,  drunk,  and 
without  a  cook,  nothing  could  be  done;  so  Mr. 
Rollins  set  the  anchor-watch  with  no  reference  to  the 
dock  inshore,  and  one  result  of  this  was  that  the 
steward  wakened  me  about  midnight  by  passing  my 
door  from  the  after-cabin  to  the  forward  passage,  and 
chuckling  audibly,  "Who's  the  fool  now?"  Then  I 

97 


Land   Ho! 

heard  him  waken  Mr.  Rollins,  whose  room  was  on 
the  port  side  of  this  passage,  telling  him  that  the 
captain  wanted  to  see  him  in  the  dining-room.  They 
both  entered  at  about  the  same  moment,  and,  as  my 
door  was  partly  ajar,  I  took  note  of  the  captain.  His 
face  was  clean,  his  eye  clear,  and  his  clothing  a  dark- 
blue  pea-jacket  and  trousers  of  pilot-cloth  or  beaver. 

"Is  the  ship  ready  for  sea,  Mr.  Rollins?"  he  in 
quired,  gravely,  when  the  mate  had  rubbed  the  sleep 
out  of  his  eyes. 

"Yes,  sir — all  but  the  cook.     Has  he  come?" 

"How  do  I  know?"  said  the  captain,  impatiently. 
"  I  have  just  come  off  in  a  shore-boat,  finding  my  hail 
unanswered;  but  the  steward  says  he  is  come.  Is 
there  no  anchor- watch  here?" 

"Yes — yes,  sir,"  stammered  the  astonished  Mr. 
Rollins.  "The  cook  came  this  afternoon,  but — but, 
I  was  waiting — for  you — for  the  cook  to — 

"Wake  up,"  interrupted  Captain  Sutherland. 
"Take  the  ship  to  sea.  You  know  better  than  to 
wait  for  orders.  I  thought  you  knew  my  ways." 

"Very  good,  sir,"  said  the  mate,  humbly,  as  he 
turned  away. 

Both  left  the  dining-room  by  opposite  doors,  and 
I  rolled  over  in  my  berth,  too  content  with  its  warmth 
to  go  on  deck  in  the  cold  and  rain  to  witness  the 
getting  under  way  of  the  big  ship.  But  I  heard  most 
of  the  operation,  beginning  with  a  noisy  dialogue 
between  the  mate  and  the  tug  captain,  in  which  the 
former  averred  that  he  never  saw  such  a  "hell-fired 

98 


The   Cook   and    the   Captain 

resemblance"  in  his  life,  and  which  he  concluded  by 
a  request  to  send  "that  damned,  hell-fired,  four- 
legged  Sou'wegian  son  of  a  ship-owner  aboard,  and 
he'd  sign  his  receipt  for  the  cook."  Then  followed 
the  clank  of  the  windlass,  the  trampling  of  feet,  the 
formless  calls  of  sailors,  the  oaths  and  orders  of  the 
officers,  the  rattling  of  blocks  and  canvas,  the  swish 
and  crash  of  water  alongside,  then  quiet — and  sleep. 

I  was  up  at  daylight ;  the  watch  on  deck  was  wash 
ing  down  under  the  second  mate ;  the  steward,  more 
tired  and  anxious-looking  than  ever,  was  flitting  back 
and  forth  between  cabin  and  galley;  and  forward 
near  the  fore- hatch  the  new  cook  was  sawing  wood. 

"He  seems  to  be  some  kind  of  a  cook,"  said  the 
steward,  when  I  had  inquired  about  his  assistant, 
"  but  he  can't  talk  English.  I  don't  know  what  I'm 
to  do." 

I  strolled  forward  and  inspected  the  cook.  He 
smiled  vacantly  as  I  halted  before  him,  but  went  on 
with  his  task,  singing  to  himself  a  rollicking  melody 
which  occasionally  broke  into  a  refrain  in  English. 
It  was  laugh-compelling,  the  way  the  words  rolled 
out,  and  the  meaning  they  had — something  about 
two  old  ladies  gossiping,  and  at  every  second  line  in 
dulging  in  the  refrain,  as  follows : 

"  Goodness  gracious,  gracious  goodness,  goodness  gra 
cious,  gracious  me." 

I  spoke  to  him,  but  he  protested  by  signs  that  he 
did  not  understand.     I  knew  that  it  is  not  difficult  to 
s  99 


Land    Ho! 

learn  and  sing  a  song  in  a  strange  language,  so  I  took 
no  account  of  this.  Though  physically — that  is,  in 
height,  figure,  color  of  hair  and  eyes,  shape  and  fixed 
expression  of  the  features — he  was  the  exact  counter 
part  of  Captain  Sutherland,  here  resemblance  ended. 
There  was  no  intellect,  no  soul,  showing  in  that 
vacant  expression  of  face  and  eyes.  He  was  an 
animate  clod — a  human  brute  barely  removed  from 
idiocy;  there  was  nothing  in  common  between  him 
and  the  intelligent  Captain  Sutherland  but  physique 
and  his  parrot-like  rendering  of  a  song.  Yes,  there 
was  one  other  point  of  resemblance.  The  gray  suit 
was  discarded  and  he  was  in  his  shirt-sleeves — very 
dirty  they  were,  too — but  he  wore  dark-blue  pilot- 
cloth  trousers. 

As  I  turned  away,  Mr.  Rollins,  just  out  of  his 
berth,  came  forward.  He  halted  before  the  cook 
and  the  pile  of  wood  resting  upon  the  unprotected 
deck,  and  turned  loose  a  torrent  of  profane  objurga 
tion,  the  burden  of  which  was  his  disapproval  of  men 
who  knew  no  more  than  to  scar  up  a  good  deck  with 
newly  sawed  wood.  The  cook  stopped  singing, 
stopped  working,  and  looked  at  him  in  stupid  be 
wilderment  ;  and  as  he  did  not  immediately  respond 
to  the  suggestion  to  pile  the  wood  on  the  hatch,  Mr. 
Rollins  promptly  seized  the  end  of  a  rope,  whirled  it 
around,  and  struck  him  on  the  face  with  it.  Still 
he  did  not  understand,  and  he  received  another  blow 
that  nearly  knocked  him  down.  The  cook  whim 
pered  in  pain,  shielding  his  face  with  his  arms;  but 

100 


The    Cook    and    the    Captain 

there  was  no  resentment  in  the  dull,  expressionless 
features,  and,  understanding  at  last,  more  by  the 
mate  s  gestures  than  his  words,  he  began  piling  the 
wood.  I  was  a  passenger,  and,  though  disgusted 
with  the  mate's  brutality,  I  could  not  interfere  in 
anything  concerning  the  management  of  the  crew; 
but  I  determined,  as  I  wrent  aft,  that  Captain  Suther 
land  should  at  least  know  of  the  proceeding,  when  he 
could  take  such  action  as  he  saw  fit.  However,  I 
soon  forgot  the  cook  and  everything  else  but  myself 
and  the  misery  of  sea- sickness ;  for  as  the  ship  left  the 
lee  of  the  land  the  seas  rose,  and  as  it  still  blew  half  a 
gale,  these  seas  tossed  the  big  vessel  about  in  a 
manner  that  sent  me  to  my  berth.  It  was  well  on 
towards  six  bells  of  the  first  watch — eleven  in  the 
evening — before  I  again  sought  the  deck,  when  I 
found  a  quiet  scene — the  sea  comparatively  smooth, 
a  gentle  breeze  bellying  the  canvas,  and  the  ship 
riding  gently  along  with  a  full  moon  hanging  over  the 
port  foreyard-arm.  Forward  the  watch  paced  up  and 
down,  or  sat  about  in  coils  of  rope  hanging  from  the 
pins ;  Mr.  Rollins  stood  by  the  break  of  the  poop,  and 
aft,  near  the  man  at  the  wheel,  Captain  Sutherland 
leaned  against  the  house,  gazing  thoughtfully  over 
the  sea.  When  he  spied  me  he  beckoned,  and  I 
joined  him,  noticing  that  he  still  wore  the  blue 
clothes  of  the  night  before.  He  led  me  up  to 
windward,  out  of  earshot  of  the  helmsman,  and 
it  was  plain  that  there  was  something  on  his 
mind. 

101 


Land   Ho! 

"Did  you  see  the  new  cook,  doctor?"  he  asked, 
softly. 

"Yes,  captain,"  I  answered,  resolved  to  inform 
him  of  the  mate's  brutality,  but  waiting  for  an 
opening.  He  stared  absently  over  my  head  a 
few  moments,  then  said:  "I  hear  he  resembles 
me  very  much  —  so  much  that  Mr.  Rollins  took 
him  for  me  when  he  came  aboard.  Is  that  so?" 

"Yes,  captain,  he  does  —  physically.  He  even 
wore  a  suit  resembling  yours,  and,  this  morning,  blue 
trousers  like  yours." 

"He  did!"  exclaimed  the  captain,  suddenly;  then, 
after  a  palpable  effort  at  self-control,  he  said:  "Mr. 
Rollins  told  me  of  his  difficulty  with  him  this  morn 
ing.  Did  you  see  that  ?" 

"Yes,  captain,  I  did,"  I  answered,  warmly,  "and 
a  more  cowardly,  brutal  attack  on  an  inoffensive  and 
unresisting  man  I  never  saw  in  my  life.  Why,  he 
could  not  understand  what  the  mate  wanted  of  him, 
and  for  this  he  was  maltreated." 

"Maltreated?"  repeated  the  captain,  with  doubt 
in  his  voice.  "  And  did  he  make  no  resistance  at  all  ? 
— a  man  as  large  as — as  myself,  I  hear." 

"He  made  none  whatever,  nor  uttered  a  word 
except  in  pain." 

"Strange,"  muttered  the  captain;  and  even  in  the 
moonlight  I  saw  that  his  face  was  ghastly  and  that 
beads  of  perspiration  stood  out  on  his  brow.  "  What 
kind  of  a  man  is  he — mentally?" 

"A  dull,  insensate  human  animal,"  I  answered, 

102 


The   Cook    and    the    Captain 

shortly,  a  little  disappointed  at  his  reception  of  my 
outburst,  "yet  a  happy,  harmless  person  who,  if  not 
ill  treated,  will  sing.  He  sang  an  English  song, 
though  a  foreigner." 

"What  was  it?  Do  you  remember?"  he  asked, 
eagerly. 

"The  refrain  ran  like  this,"  I  answered,  and  then 
sang: 

"'Goodness  gracious,  gracious  goodness,  goodness — M1 

"Don't,"  gasped  the  captain.  "Don't  sing  that 
song."  He  put  his  hands  to  his  face,  and  his  words 
came  forth  as  though  dragged  from  him  against  his 
will.  Then  he  recovered  himself  and  said:  "That 
song  is  the  curse  of  my  life,  doctor.  It  always  pre 
ludes  disaster  to  me.  I  heard  the  shipping-master 
sing  it  ashore — when  I  bargained  with  him  for  the 
cook.  Don't  sing  it  again.  Oblige  me.  I  am 
afraid  of  it." 

"Why,  certainly,  captain,"  I  answered,  wonder 
ing  what  dark  mystery  in  this  man's  past  was  stirred 
up.  "  But,  no  doubt,  the  cook  learned  it  of  the  ship 
ping-master  on  the  way  down." 

11  No,  no,"  he  declared ;  then,  changing  his  tone  with 
an  effort,  he  added,  "  Yes,  of  course — very  probable." 

Mr.  Rollins  had  come  aft,  peeped  into  the  binnacle, 
criticised  the  helmsman,  after  the  manner  of  mates, 
and  had  drawn  close  enough  to  hear  the  song  but 
not  the  conversation. 

103 


Land   Ho! 

"Great  song  —  that,"  he  remarked.  "He  was 
singin'  it  three  minutes  after  I  thumped  him,  and 
kept  it  up  all  day  " 

"Mr.  Rollins,"  said  the  captain,  sternly,  "I  have 
just  explained  to  Dr.  Fleming  that  the  song  is  in 
tensely  disagreeable  to  me,  that — in  faet,  it  brings 
me  bad  luck.  Suppress  it  aboard  this  ship.  Let  no 
man  sing  it,  either  in  my  hearing  or  out  of  it.  Put 
that  Sou'wegian — that  double  of  mine — into  your  de 
partment,  where  you  can  have  an  eye  upon  him. 
Make  a  sailor  of  him.  With  God's  help,  I'll  have  an 
end  of  this." 

He  had  begun  calmly,  but  concluded  in  a  passion 
of  excitement.  Then  he  looked  wildly  at  us  for  a 
moment,  then  calmed  down. 

"Pardon  me,  captain,"  I  ventured,  "but  I  am  a 
medical  man,  entitled  to  ask  impertinent  questions. 
You  are  extremely  agitated.  Have  you  met  this 
man  before  in  your  life?" 

He  looked  at  me  angrily,  then  said  to  the  mate: 
"He  is  my  worst  enemy — on  account  of  the  resem 
blance,  he  has  worked  me  incalculable  harm — be 
cause  he  is  my  mental  opposite.  I  now  have  him  in 
my  power.  Make  his  mind  like  mine.  Make  him  a 
sailor." 

"I'll  make  somethin'  of  him,  sir,"  said  the  mate, 
coolly.  "Shark-bait  if  you  say  so." 

"No,  no,"  cried  the  captain,  vehemently.  "Not 
that,  understand.  You  are  not  to  injure  him  per 
manently,  no  matter  what  the  provocation.  Protect 

104 


The   Cook   and    the   Captain 

him — even  from  himself.  Do  not  go  too  far.  Just 
make  a  sailor  of  him — and  keep  him  out  of  the  fore 
castle — away  from  the  men.  They'd  drive  him  to 
suicide.  Let  him  sleep  in  the  cook's  berth  just  the 
same,  and  find  a  man  who  can  cook  among  the  crew 
to  take  his  work.  Understand  ? — you  are  simply  to 
make  a  sailor  of  Lars  Hansen — that's  the  name  on 
the  articles — an  incompetent  and  disrated  cook." 

"Yes,  sir,  I  understand.  There's  another  Sou'- 
wegian  in  my  watch  that  can  cook,  he  says.  They 
were  chinning  together,  and — " 

"Send  him  aft." 

A  hulking  Scandinavian  sailor  came  aft  at  the 
mate's  behest,  and  shambled  up  the  poop-steps. 

"Are  you  a  cook?"  asked  the  captain. 

"  Yaas,  sir,"  answered  the  man.  "  I  coo-oo-k  mit 
my  country  ships." 

"You  will  keep  your  bed  in  the  forecastle,  but  do 
your  work  in  the  galley  under  the  steward's  orders. 
Is  the  cook  a  countryman  of  yours  ?" 

"Ay,  ay,  sir.  But — I  dunno,  sir.  Dot  fellar — 
he  knows  his  name,  but  not  his  town.  I  ask  him, 
Bergen,  Trondhjem,  Christiansand —  I  t'ink  he  is  a 
Dane,  sir;  I  t'ink  he  is— 

The  sailor  touched  his  forehead. 

"  No,  he's  sane,  and  a  Norwegian,"  said  the  captain, 
unguardedly.  "  That'll  do,"  he  added,  briskly.  "  Go 
forward.  Remember,"  he  resumed  to  the  mate, 
"what  I  said,  Mr.  Rollins.  You  are  to  break  that 
double  of  mine  in  to  his  work,  but  are  not  to  injure 

I05 


Land   Ho! 

him — not  to  disfigure  him.  Understand?  There  is 
a — an  occult  connection  of  some  kind.  He  is  my 
living  image,  and  physical  harm  to  him  comes  to  me 
in  some  manner — that  is,  if  you  blacken  his  eyes, 
mine  will  become  discolored  through  sympathy. 
That  is  all  I  can  explain  to  you  now.  But — make 
a  sailor  of  him.  Good-night — good-night,  doctor." 

11  Crazy?"  murmured  the  mate,  inquiringly,  when 
he  had  gone. 

"Not  necessarily,"  I  answered.  "Such  cases  of 
sympathy  between  doubles  have  been  known." 

"Well,"  said  the  mate,  dryly,  "I'm  to  make  a 
sailor  of  him.  Big  job  for  one  v'yage,  but  I'll  try. 
Wonder  what  he  did  to  the  skipper  to  make  him  so 
sore?" 

I  was  busy  myself  with  the  same  speculation,  and 
could  not  inform  him — that  is,  in  language  that  he 
could  undertand.  I  went  to  sleep  with  my  head  full 
of  obsessions,  possessions,  soul  affinities,  and  such 
psychic  problems,  and  when  I  came  on  deck  in  the 
morning  I  found  that  Lars  Hansen's  tutelage  had 
begun.  Clad  in  the  soiled  gray  suit,  he  was  wielding 
a  broom  with  the  rest  of  the  watch  in  the  morning 
wash-down  on  the  deck,  and,  as  I  appeared  on  the 
scene,  had  just  received  a  drenching  from  a  bucket  of 
water  in  the  hands  of  the  mate. 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you,"  roared  the  officer,  "  to  shut  off 
that  song?" 

He  turned  for  another  bucket  of  water,  and 
Hansen  shook  himself  like  a  dog,  sober  of  face,  but 

106 


The   Cook   and   the   Captain 

not  apparently  angry.  Then  his  vacant  smile  came 
to  him,  he  resumed  work  with  his  broom,  and  the 
words  rolled  out: 

"  Goodness  gracious,  gracious  goodness — " 

This  time  he  got  bucket  and  all.  The  impact 
knocked  him  down,  and  he  whined  inarticulately, 
while  every  face  but  his  and  the  mate's  wore  a  grin. 
But  he  picked  himself  up,  silent  for  the  few  moments 
I  remained  there,  and  scrubbed  vigorously.  He  had 
no  mind,  though  a  giant  able  to  crush  the  mate  in  his 
arms.  It  was  a  shame  to  ill-treat  him,  but  I  could 
do  nothing  but  show  my  indignation  by  leaving  the 
deck. 

His  education  proceeded  on  these  lines  for  three 
days,  to  no  appreciable  result.  He  could  master  no 
details  of  a  sailor's  work  requiring  the  slightest  exer 
cise  of  judgment,  and  could  not  remember  for  more 
than  a  few  moments  the  inhibition  of  the  song.  In 
deed,  the  ruling  worked  against  itself;  for  the  crew 
picked  it  up,  and  whenever  the  mate  was  far  enough 
away  a  man  would  lift  his  head  and  sing,  as  loud 
as  he  dared,  the  ridiculous  refrain,  to  the  accom 
paniment  of  grins  and  jokes.  During  this  time 
Captain  Sutherland  remained  below,  leaving  the 
navigation  of  the  ship  to  the  mate;  and  the  steward, 
in  response  to  my  inquiries,  informed  me  that  it  was 
no  unusual  thing — that  he  often  kept  his  room  for 
days,  permitting  no  one  to  enter,  and  ordering  his 

107 


Land   Ho! 

meals  at  rare  intervals,  and  at  any  hour  of  the  clock. 
My  interest  in  a  matter  that  neither  the  mate  nor 
steward  cared  about  was  purely  professional:  as 
Lars  Hansen  now  bore  several  scars  and  contusions 
on  his  face,  I  was  curious  to  know  of  possible  similar 
stigmata — such  as  he  had  hinted  at — on  the  face  of 
the  captain. 

Mr.  Benson,  the  second  mate,  a  young  fellow  on 
his  first  voyage  as  an  officer — hence  not  in  strong 
sympathy  with  the  abuse  of  Hansen — had  informed 
me  that  the  men  forward  were  only  waiting  for  the 
captain's  appearance  on  deck  to  bring  the  bruised  and 
battered  foreigner  aft  and  make  his  complaint  for 
him  in  English.  And  even  as  we  talked  on  the  poop, 
Captain  Sutherland  came  out  of  the  forward  cabin 
door  and  paced  a  few  turns  on  the  main-deck. 

"  Been  inspecting  the  log-book  in  the  mate's  room, 
I  suppose,"  whispered  Mr.  Benson.  "I  hear  he 
always  does  that  first  thing  when  he's  through 
hibernating. ' ' 

I  noticed  that  the  watch  forward  had  begun  to 
move  about;  then,  as  the  captain  climbed  the  lee 
poop-steps,  evidently  with  a  wish  to  avoid  us,  one 
of  the  men  came  aft  and  called  up  to  the  second  mate, 
"Hansen's  not  in  his  bunk,  sir,  and  we  can't  find 
him."  Mr.  Benson  descended  the  steps  and  went 
forward  with  the  man. 

Had  the  poor  wretch  been  driven  to  suicide  ?  With 
this  as  a  pretext,  though  with  other  thoughts  in  my 
mind,  I  strolled  aft  and  fared  the  captain  near  the 

1 08 


The   Cook   and   the   Captain 

binnacle.  He  looked  at  me  and  bade  me  a  civil  good- 
evening,  but  his  voice  seemed  changed.  The  strong, 
vibrant,  raspy  intonation  was  gone  from  it;  it 
quavered  a  little,  and  there  was  an  air  of  drooping 
and  despondency  in  his  whole  bearing.  He  seemed 
a  sick  man,  and  I  would  have  addressed  him  pro 
fessionally  had  I  not  seen  marks  on  his  face  that 
called  for  other  than  mere  medical  diagnosis.  Han- 
sen  had  wound  up  the  day  with  a  black  eye,  a  red 
and  swollen  nose,  and  a  lacerated  upper  lip.  In  a 
lesser  degree  Captain  Sutherland  bore  these  dis 
figurations;  his  eye  was  not  black,  but  puffed,  his 
nose  only  slightly  swollen,  and  his  lip  nearly  normal. 
Was  it  stigmata? 

"Pardon  me,  captain,"  I  said,  "but — your  face  is 
marked.  Is  it  possible  that  you  are  suffering  the 
pain  of  another?" 

"I  suppose  so,"  he  answered,  wearily,  moving 
away  from  the  helmsman's  vicinity.  I  slowly  fol 
lowed,  and  he  turned  and  faced  me. 

"While  I  was  below,  ill  in  my  berth,"  he  said,  in  a 
strained,  unnatural  tone,  "  my  double  has  been  struck 
in  the  eye,  on  the  nose,  and  on  the  mouth.  There  is 
no  pain,  only  a  puffed,  itching  sensation.  Have  you 
studied  these  things,  doctor?" 

"  I  have  read  of  such  transference  of  sensation,  but 
it  never  came  into  my  practice.  If  you  can  imagine 
the  pain,  you  may  know  what  the  original  victim  has 
suffered  at  the  mate's  hands.  Captain,  it  is  inhuman ; 
even  the  men  are  indignant,  and  have  jusc  told  Mr. 

109 


Land   Ho! 

Benson  that  he  is  missing  from  his  bunk — perhaps 
gone  overboard  to  escape  it." 

"Damn  them!"  he  growled;  then,  to  me:  " Doc 
tor,  if  I  dared — if  I  thought  it  would  bring  no  harm 
to  myself — I  would  welcome  such  an  escape.  Let  it 
go  at  that." 

Mr.  Benson  arrived  at  this  moment  with  the  news 
from  forward — Hansen  could  not  be  found.  "  There's 
a  hatch  from  the  galley  leading  down  into  the  'tween- 
deck,  sir, ' '  he  said .  '  *  Perhaps  he 's  hiding  down  there, 
and  put  the  hatch-cover  on  again." 

"No,"  said  the  captain.  "I  know  all  about  that 
hatch.  He  couldn't  do  it  from  underneath.  If  he 
don't  show  up  to-morrow,  he's  overboard.  Don't 
bother  me"  -his  voice  rose  angrily  —  "with  such 
things.  I'm  a  sick  man." 

"Very  well,  sir." 

Mr.  Benson  moved  away,  and  halted  near  the 
weather  mizzen-rigging,  evidently  putting  the  mat 
ter  from  his  mind  very  easily;  for  he  had  hardly 
placed  himself  before  he  began  humming  louder 
as  the  melody  progressed,  the  catchy,  rollicking 
tune  that  the  captain  had  forbidden  to  the  first 
mate  but  not  to  him.  The  sick  man  was  trans 
formed. 

"Hell  and  damnation!"  he  yelled;  "will  you  hush 
up  that  music  ?  By  God,  if  you  were  not  an  officer 
I'd  thrash  you  in  your  tracks.  Didn't  I  say  I  didn't 
want  to  hear  that  infernal  song?" 

"Not  to  me,  sir,"  said  the  young  mate,  with 
no 


The   Cook   and   the   Captain 

dignity.  "  I  caught  it  from  the  men,  but  I  didn't 
know  you  objected  to  it." 

"  I  do.  My  God;  oh,  my  God,  I  do!  Don't  sing 
that  song  again." 

His  high-pitched,  angry  voice  had  sunk  to  a  groan. 
He  turned  and  fairly  tottered  to  the  companion, 
down  which  he  went  with  stumbling  feet.  Mr.  Ben 
son  looked  at  me  in  the  moonlight. 

"His  mind  is  affected,"  I  said,  softly,  and  he 
nodded. 

But,  though  this  settled  Mr.  Benson's  doubts,  I 
still  had  my  own.  I  remained  up  until  eight  bells, 
when  Mr.  Rollins  came  on  deck  and  received  Mr. 
Benson's  report  that  Hansen  was  missing.  As  first 
mate,  Mr.  Rollins  could  act  on  his  own  initiative. 
He  ordered  a  search  of  the  'tween-deck  with  lanterns, 
and  in  spite  of  my  rheumatism  I  went  down  that 
hatch  with  the  party,  carrying  my  own  bull's-eye 
lantern  secreted  in  my  pocket.  And  as  Mr.  Rollins, 
for  reasons  connected  with  his  duties  on  deck  and  the 
temper  of  the  men  who  went  down  looking  for  the 
missing  ship-mate,  remained  above,  it  was  easy  to 
lose  myself  among  the  cargo  while  they  searched 
around  a  square  space  under  the  hatch  containing  a 
reserve  of  coal  and  wood  for  use  in  the  galley.  They 
soon  gave  it  up  and  ascended;  then  my  bull's-eye 
disclosed  what  their  lanterns  had  not — an  opening 
among  the  boxes  and  cases  of  the  cargo,  high  up  near 
the  beams,  and  on  entering  this  I  found  that  it  en 
larged  and  led  aft,  an  irregular  but  clear  passage 

in 


Land   Ho! 

above  the  cargo.  I  followed  it,  passing  the  main 
mast  and  later  the  mizzen.  Knowing  now  that  I 
was  beneath  the  cabin,  I  found  a  soft  spot,  screened 
my  lantern,  and  waited. 

Not  for  long.  Steps  sounded  above  me;  a  hatch 
was  lifted,  letting  down  a  flood  of  lamplight ;  then  I 
heard  the  voice  of  the  cook,  cheerfully  singing  that 
fatal  song;  then  the  light  was  blocked  by  his  body 
as,  still  singing,  he  dropped  down  beside  me  on  the 
cargo.  I  turned  on  my  bull's-eye  and  flashed  the 
light  in  his  face.  He  screened  his  eyes  with  his  hands, 
whimpered,  and  drew  back. 

"Captain  Sutherland,"  I  said,  sternly,  "do  you 
hear  me?  Wake  up." 

He  whimpered  again,  then  launched  a  volley  of 
strange  words  at  me — Norwegian  or  Danish,  I  sup 
pose — but  with  a  note  of  entreaty  in  them.  But  he 
only  stood  blinking  at  the  light.  I  spoke  kindly,  ad 
vanced,  and  examined  him.  He  wore  the  gray  suit, 
still  damp  from  the  drenching  of  the  morning,  and 
creased  irregularly,  as  though  he  had  slept  in  it.  But 
the  white  shirt  was  clean  and  the  underclothing  dry. 
I  shook  him,  commanded  him  to  wake  up,  and  spent 
about  ten  minutes  at  the  task ;  then  commanded  him 
to  go  forward  to  the  galley. 

"Galley,"  he  repeated,  stupidly,  and  started.  He 
had  learned  the  meaning  of  this  English  word. 

I  followed,  saw  him  reach  up  and  lift  the  hatch,  in 
spite  of  his  own  statement  that  it  could  not  be  done, 
climb  through  and  close  it  down ;  then  I  pondered  for 

112 


The    Cook    and    the    Captain 

about  an  hour  on  what  I  had  studied  of  the  phases  of 
somnambulism  and  the  deeper  stages — alternating 
personality.  But  I  could  not  solve  this  problem. 
Parts  of  it  were  clear,  however.  In  his  normal  mind 
Captain  Sutherland  knew  of  his  infirmity,  and  had 
only  endeavored  to  conceal  it  by  such  means  as  were 
in  his  power — as,  donning  the  gray  suit  before  going 
to  sleep  in  his  cabin,  so  that  he  would  be  less  likely  to 
put  on  the  blue  again  when  he  wakened  as  the  cook ; 
trying  to  mislead  me  with  the  suggestion  of  stigmata 
from  another  human  being  in  psychic  touch  with 
himself;  and  assuming  habits  of  retirement  for  days, 
contrary  to  all  the  habits  of  ship-masters  and  the 
usages  of  the  sea.  But  why  did  the  ridiculous  song 
enrage  him,  and  why  did  he  so  ardently  desire  that,  as 
cook,  he  should  be  taught  the  work  of  a  sailor  ?  To 
bring  about  a  similar  mind-state  between  his  two 
personalities  ?  If  he  had  studied  psychology  enough 
to  learn  of  stigmata,  he  would  hardly  hope  for  a  cure 
by  such  means;  it  would  take  three  or  four  life 
times. 

I  gave  it  up,  ascended  the  hatch  easily,  put  it  on, 
peeped  in  and  saw  the  captain,  or  Lars  Hansen,  as  he 
now  was,  asleep  in  the  cook's  room,  and  went  aft  to 
my  room  without  meeting  any  one.  I  wakened  late, 
found  a  gray  gale  of  wind  brewing,  and  Mr.  Rollins 
busy  on  the  main-deck  punishing  Lars  Hansen  for 
" soldiering"  through  the  middle  watch. 

The  poor  wretch  was  prostrate  on  the  deck,  his 
face  bleeding,  and  hands  held  tightly  over  his  eyes 

"3 


Land   Ho! 

and  temples.  He  was  crying  inarticulately  in  his 
language,  beseeching  mercy,  no  doubt,  from  a  brute 
that  knew  not  the  meaning  of  the  word  in  his  own. 
The  mate,  swearing  bravely,  was  walking  around 
him,  shifting  his  position  deliberately  as  he  sought 
for  an  opening  in  the  victim's  defensive  guard,  and 
flourishing  in  his  hand  his  favorite  weapon — a  rope's- 
end.  Forward,  the  men  were  gathered  together, 
scowling  viciously,  a  few  of  them  with  belaying-pins 
in  their  hands.  Above,  the  growing  gale  whistled 
and  sang,  and,  one  after  another,  the  three  sky  sails 
left  the  bolt-ropes  and  the  flying  jib  went  to  rib 
bons  ;  but  the  fatuous  mate  went  on  with  his  amuse 
ment. 

I  resolved  to  stop  it,  even  though  half  aware  now  of 
the  hidden  design  in  it  all.  But  just  as  I  had  started 
to  speak,  and  the  men  forward  had  begun  a  rush, 
Lars  Hansen  sprang  to  his  feet,  looking  wildly  about 
him,  and  received  a  glancing,  carelessly  delivered 
blow  of  the  rope.  The  wild  look  left  his  face,  and 
was  followed  by  an  expression  of  sudden,  human 
resentment,  while  he  drew  back  a  fist  bigger  than 
the  mate's.  But  he  did  not  strike  out;  instead,  he 
glanced  quickly  and  intelligently  aloft  and  around, 
then  at  the  indignant  men  flocking  to  his  aid.  Then 
he  felt  of  his  face. 

"All  right,  men,"  he  said,  calmly.  "Go  forward. 
I'm  the  captain  of  the  ship."  He  turned  a  steady, 
piercing  eye  on  the  dumfounded  mate,  who  had 
dropped  the  rope  to  clinch  his  fist. 

114 


The   Cook   and    the   Captain 

"  Much  obliged,  Mr.  Rollins,"  he  said,  "  but  I  think 
I've  had  enough.  Take  in  the  canvas." 

The  mate  stared  vacantly  at  him.  His  jaw 
dropped  and  his  fists  unclinched. 

"Take  in  the  royals  and  mizzen-topgallantsail, 
Mr.  Rollins,"  said  Captain  Sutherland,  quietly,  ad 
vancing  a  step  towards  the  officer. 

It  was  too  much  for  the  intellect  of  Mr.  Rollins. 
He  uttered  a  hoarse  shriek  of  terror,  then  turned  and 
fled  towards  the  poop-steps,  where  he  halted  and 
looked  back. 

"Wait,  Mr.  Rollins,"  called  the  captain.  "I'll 
explain." 

He  followed,  and  the  mate  sprang  up  the  steps, 
raced  aft,  and  looked  forward  from  the  taffrail. 
Then,  as  Captain  Sutherland  climbed  the  steps,  and 
the  bloody  face  appeared  to  his  view,  his  limited 
mind  gave  way  entirely.  With  an  incoherent  yell, 
he  jumped  on  the  taffrail,  and,  as  the  avenging 
vision  called  to  him  again,  he  dropped  over 
board. 

There  was  confusion  much  confounded  for  a  while. 
The  ship  was  hove  to  and  a  boat  lowered,  but  the 
mate  was  not  seen  again,  and  the  men  returned  just 
in  time  to  save  themselves  and  the  ship. 

"I  am  an  Icelander,"  said  Captain  Sutherland, 
when  he  explained  matters  to  me.  "  The  song  has  the 
tune  of  an  old  saga  put  to  music.  I  do  not  know  the 
psychology,  but  it  always  threw  me  into  that  condi 
tion.  I  became  a  Sou'wegian,  though  in  my  normal 


Land   Ho! 

state  I  could  not  learn  the  language.  I  spent  three 
years  as  a  cook  in  Norwegian  craft,  before  I  shipped 
in  an  American  ship  and  was  hammered  back  by  a 
Yankee  mate.  So,  you  see,  I  knew  the  remedy,  and 
applied  it." 


The  Line   of   Least   Resistance 


<<r"PHERE  was  a  sensational  closing  to  the  trial  of 
I  First  Mate  Vaughn  for  the  murder  of  Captain 
Anderson  of  the  Golden  Era  while  the  ship  was  off 
Bermuda,  outward  bound  The  evidence,  consist 
ing  of  the  second  mate's  testimony  as  to  the  quarrel 
between  the  two  over  the  first  mate's  ill-treatment 
of  a  seaman,  and  his  threat  to  kill  the  captain  if  he 
again  interfered  in  his  duties,  the  finding  of  the  of 
ficer's  jack-knife  buried  in  the  captain's  breast,  and 
the  proven  fact  that  the  two  men  occupied  the  cabin 
alone  at  the  time  the  deed  was  done,  was  sufficient  to 
bring  an  immediate  verdict  of '  guilty '  from  the  jury. 
At  that  moment  a  disreputable  individual — a  French 
man  —  stepped  forward  and  announced  in  a  loud 
voice  that  the  first  mate  was  innocent — that  he  him 
self,  the  ill-used  seaman  over  whom  they  had  dif 
fered,  had  killed  the  captain.  As,  in  spite  of  his  rags, 
his  bearing  was  calm  and  dignified  and  his  speech, 
though  broken,  consistent  with  sanity  and  a  former 

117 


Land   Ho! 

acquaintance  with  better  things,  he  was  remanded 
on  his  confession,  and  the  first  mate  released  on  bail 
pending  a  new  trial,  at  which  he  will  probably  be 
acquitted." 

I  quote  the  above  from  a  morning  paper  of  the 
time.  I  was  appointed  to  defend  the  penniless 
wretch  who  had  confessed  to  this  murder,  and  on 
visiting  him  in  his  cell  found  a  sad  picture  of  broken 
humanity.  He  was  toothless  and  bald,  except  for 
patches  of  iron-gray  hair  bordered  and  divided  by 
cicatrice  and  scar.  From  his  wrinkled  face,  bronzed 
and  leathery,  shone  a  pair  of  deep-sunken,  black  eyes 
with  a  slumbrous  fire  that  is  sometimes  seen  in  the 
eyes  of  madmen,  but  not  often.  To  me  they  indi 
cated  what  I  since  then  found  justified — the  "  fixed 
idea"  which  Hugo  has  described,  which  leads  to  her 
oism  or  madness.  But  he  was  sane;  he  laughed  at 
me;  he  sneered  at  my  offer  of  help;  he  gloried  in 
his  deed  and  was  only  anxious  and  impatient  for  the 
end.  He  wanted  no  help — no  liberty — no  continu 
ance  of  life;  but  at  last,  after  repeated  visits,  I  learn 
ed  what  he  did  want,  and,  by  a  little  Monte-Cristo 
persuasion  of  jailers,  brought  it  in  to  him — absinthe. 
Then  I  obtained  his  story,  which  I  give,  transcribed 
by  my  stenographer,  who  accompanied  me,  and  who 
has  corrected  only  his  mispronunciation,  leaving  his 
diction  as  he  received  it. 

"What  you  want  me  tell?  Why  I  kill  him?  What 
matter;  I  kill  him.  I  should  have  killed  him  fifteen 
years  before,  when  the  great  wrong  was  done.  Better 

118 


The   Line   of   Least   Resistance 

he  die  innocent ;  better  I  die  guilty  than  he  live  to  do 
this  wrong.  My  Lois,  my  flower  of  purity  and  good 
ness!  What  did  he  make  her?  What  is  she  now  if 
she  live  ?  What  must  she  be  ?  I  saw  her  in  her  first 
degradation  and  misery — in  her  paint  and  powder. 
I  saw  her  false  diamond  and  tinsel.  I  hear  her  loud 
laugh. 

"  Listen.  Fifteen  years  ago  I  was  young  man.  I 
was  twenty-four  years  old.  I  was  just  arrive  from 
France,  not  the  wreck  you  see  now ;  not  toothless  and 
maimed  by  the  handspike — the  belay  ing-pin.  My 
hair  was  black — shiny ;  my  eyes  were  bright — bright 
with  life  and  trust  in  my  future.  My  teeth  were 
white  and  even;  I  cared  for  them.  I  was  proud  of 
myself,  because  women  and  children  like  me.  I  had 
no  vices — no  drinking,  no  tobacco.  I  dress  well;  I 
was  a  gentleman ;  but  I  did  not  understand  well  your 
language. 

"  That  city  of  Newport,  you  know  ?  I  teach  music 
there.  I  get  plenty  of  pupils  for  the  piano,  the  violin. 
I  do  well ;  I  save  money.  One  of  my  pupils  for  little 
while  was  Lois.  She  speak  my  language;  she  was 
musician,  too.  Only  I  teach  her  the  duet  and  train 
her  voice.  Oh,  that  voice!  It  was  low  and  rich; 
it  was  soft  and  trembling.  It  was  the  roar  of  the 
surf  in  the  storm ;  it  was  the  murmur  of  a  mother.  I 
cannot  tell  of  her  voice.  Her  beauty  was  more ;  not 
her  eyes,  nor  the  soul  within ;  not  her  grand  crown  of 
hair,  golden,  like  the  sunlight  on  the  wet  sand-beach ; 
it  was  not  the  blush  on  her  cheek,  not  her  superb 

119 


Land  Ho! 

figure,  her  grace  of  carriage;  it  was  all,  the  whole. 
And  I  love  her ;  I  worship  my  Lois ;  and  after  a  time, 
down  by  the  sand-dunes,  she  say  she  love  me;  she 
would  be  my  wife,  but  not  yet ;  not  until  I  was  no 
more  poor  man,  for  she  herself  was  poor,  very  poor. 
She  say  so. 

"  I  was  in  my  heaven  for  one  month,  and  when  my 
lessons  were  done  for  the  day  I  would  walk  with  Lois 
on  the  beach,  far  from  the  others.  Once,  only  once, 
she  let  me  kiss  her.  And  I  was  afterwards  ashamed ; 
she  was  too  pure,  too  innocent  for  that. 

"  Then  came  the  captain  of  the  big  ship  that  was 
wreck  off  Nantucket.  He  was  not  gentleman;  he 
was  not  refined,  educated.  But  he  was  handsome, 
like  a  bull  is  handsome.  He  was  very  big,  and  his 
voice  was  loud,  boisterous,  and  he  laugh  very  much. 
He  care  nothing  for  Lois.  I  watch  him.  He  treat 
her  not  with  respect.  He  never  care  if  she  be  near 
or  far  away;  but  he  amuse  himself.  And  my  Lois 
walk  no  more  on  the  beach  with  me ;  she  walk  with 
the  big  captain.  One  time  I  meet  her  alone.  She 
try  to  avoid  me.  I  force  myself ;  I  force  her  to  speak. 
Then  she  say  it  was  all  mistake.  She  do  not  love  me. 
She  very  sorry.  Once  after,  I  could  not  help,  I  fol 
low,  and  see  him  kiss  her. 

"Then  I  go  away  with  my  desolation.  I  cancel 
my  contracts ;  I  sell  my  piano.  I  come  to  New  York 
and  begin  with  few  pupils,  but  I  cannot  stay.  I  feel 
that  I  must  be  one  man  and  not  annoy  Lois  when  she 
do  not  care  for  me,  but  I  cannot.  I  must  look  at  her, 

120 


The   Line  of  Least   Resistance 

though  I  must  not  speak.  I  come  back  to  Newport. 
She  is  gone.  I  dare  not  ask  where ;  it  not  my  busi 
ness.  But  Jules  Jacquin,  my  friend  and  my  enemy 
— my  friend  because  I  get  him  work ;  my  enemy  be 
cause  I  was  more  successful  musician  —  he  tell  me 
that  Lois  and  the  big  captain  go  away  together.  He 
laugh ;  he  say  that  they  are  not  married,  and  I  strike 
him  down  for  the  insult  to  Lois. 

"Then  I  go  back,  but  the  horrible  thought  was  in 
my  brain ;  it  would  not  leave  me.  I  visit  the  Mari 
time  Exchange.  I  find  that  Captain  Anderson  have 
sail  for  Hong-Kong  in  big  ship,  new  ship  with  pas 
sengers.  I  call  on  the  ship's  agents;  I  see  the 
passenger  -  list.  There  was  her  name,  Lois  Mon- 
trose.  There  are  other  passengers,  men,  women, 
children,  but  no  other  name  Montrose.  Still,  I  not 
sure. 

"  I  could  no  more  attend  to  my  pupils,  and  at  last 
I  must  take  employment.  I  play  the  piano  in 
theatre  orchestra  for  one  year,  for  two  year;  and 
then,  one  night,  I  look  up,  and  there  I  see  Lois.  Oh, 
mon  Dieu.  What  was  the  play  ?  It  was  the  '  Black 
Crook.'  What  was  Lois?  She  was  chorus-girl;  she 
was  costumed  for  the  part.  I  thought  my  heart  was 
prepared,  but  the  shock  was  the  same  as  though  I 
had  not  suspect.  I  know  then  that  Lois,  the  pure, 
the  good,  was  lost  to  herself;  that  my  love  was  futile ; 
that  Jules  was  right. 

"  Yet  it  not  my  business ;  she  do  not  belong  to  me. 
I  tell  myself  this  over  and  over ;  but  it  will  not  satisfy. 

121 


Land  Ho! 

She  had  been  deceive  and  cast  off ;  that  I  know.  She 
had  loved  and  trusted — that  is  all.  And  the  fault 
was  not  hers ;  the  fault  was  the  man's  who  had  won 
her  heart — and  despised  it. 

" I  could  not  play  in  that  orchestra  again;  I  could 
not  look  at  her  in  her  paint  and  powder — in  her  shame 
and  degradation;  but  I  watch  night  after  night  at 
the  stage-door  and  see  her  come  and  go  in  the  cab- 
sometime  with  one  escort,  sometime  with  two — and 
all  the  time  laughing,  so  loud,  so  abandoned.  After 
a  while  she  come  no  more. 

"Then  for  two  years  more  I  go  downward,  until  I 
reach  the  level  of  poor,  fallen  Lois.  I  play  in  the 
dance -hall  —  in  the  concert  saloon;  I  drink  the 
whiskey  and  the  absinthe;  I  ruin  my  stomach  and 
my  nerves.  My  face  change  so  that  I  once  pass 
Jules  in  the  daytime  and  he  not  know  me. 

"Then  come  my  blindness — come  one  time  when 
I  catch  cold  in  my  eyes.  I  do  not  care  for  them; 
they  get  worse;  by-and-by  I  cannot  see — I  cannot 
make  the  music.  I  walk  the  street  with  cane — with 
green  patch  on  my  eyes,  and  then  I  have  no  money 
and  am  hungry.  I  stand  still  on  the  Sixth  Avenue 
—on  Fourteenth  Street ;  I  hold  out  my  hand  and  feel 
pennies  drop,  and  I  put  them  in  my  pocket.  One 
time  I  hear  voice,  "  Poor  fellow."  It  was  her  voice ; 
the  grand,  full  tone — the  music  of  her  soul.  It  was 
Lois,  but  I  cannot  see  her.  I  call  out  once;  then  I 
think,  I  have  no  right.  She  is  gone,  but  she  have 
put  a  nickel  in  my  hand.  I  have  it  now;  I  have  sew 

122 


The   Line   of   Least   Resistance 

it  in  my  vest.     I  have  starve  and  thirst  many  time 
in  ten  year,  but  I  never  spend  Lois's  nickel. 

"  My  eyes  get  well,  and  again  I  earn  little  money- 
enough  to  pay  for  the  food,  for  the  absinthe,  but  not 
for  clothes.  I  sleep  in  the  lodging-house,  sometime 
in  the  doorway.  One  night,  very  late,  I  see  her 
again,  with  rough  people  on  Cherry  Street.  They 
talk  loud  and  laugh  very  much;  but  her  face  was 
white  under  the  gaslight,  and  she  was  dress  so  poor, 
so  shabby.  I  know  she  suffer ;  I  know  the  world  go 
hard  with  her ;  and  my  heart  go  out  to  her  in  one  great 
love  and  pity.  I  obey  an  impulse — I  go  up  to  her. 

' '  Lois,'  I  say,  '  come  with  me.  Do  you  not  know 
me?  Leave  this  life  of  sin  and  misery.  We  will 
begin  again.  I  will  care  for  you,  and  you  shall  help 
me.  I  will  love  you  and  you  shall  be  my  wife.  I  will 
lift  myself,  but  always  you  shall  be  higher  than  I. 
Let  me  work  for  you,  Lois.  Come  with  me.' 

"She  could  not  look  me  in  the  face.  For  her 
shame  she  put  her  hands  before  her  and  step  back. 
She  did  not  speak.  Then  a  big  man — no,  not  the  big 
captain — he  spring  forward  and  strike  me  on  the 
mouth.  That  is  when  I  lose  my  teeth.  I  fall  and 
he  strike  with  stick ;  he  break  my  fingers — break  the 
bones  so  that  they  are  not  straight  again,  and  I  no 
more  play  the  piano  or  the  violin.  He  lift  me  by  the 
collar  and  call  the  policeman.  I  go  to  the  station; 
next  morning  I  go  to  the  island;  and  when  I  come 
back  I  must  again  beg  for  my  food,  because  I  can  no 
more  play  the  piano  or  the  violin. 

123 


Land  Ho! 

"I  think  of  it  all.  I  think  of  it  until  my  head 
ache.  My  Lois  was  ruined ;  my  own  life  was  ruined. 
One  man  is  responsible — the  big  captain.  I  come 
to  my  great  resolution:  he  shall  die. 

"  I  find  at  the  Exchange  the  name  of  the  ship  he 
now  command.  She  have  just  left  Melbourne  for 
Liverpool.  I  go  to  the  dock  and  get  work  on  the 
brick  scow,  on  the  canal-boat,  to  strengthen  my  arms, 
to  tan  my  face  so  that  I  look  like  sailor.  Then  I  ship 
for  Liverpool  in  Baltimore  brig  as  able  seaman.  I 
was  not  able  seaman,  so  I  was  beaten,  maltreated  by 
the  mates ;  but  I  learn  a  little  of  the  work.  I  leave 
at  Liverpool  and  find  that  the  big,  fast  ship  have  not 
arrive,  and  I  starve  for  a  time  and  then  ship  for  short 
run  to  the  Mediterranean.  I  learn  more  of  my  work, 
but  all  the  same  I  get  the  abuse,  the  mate's  fist  and 
the  belay  ing- pin.  When  I  get  back  I  find  the  big 
ship  have  come  and  gone,  for  Boston.  I  try  to  ship 
in  steamship,  but  cannot ;  I  too  small,  they  say,  and 
I  must  wait  long  time  before  I  can  sign  for  Boston. 
I  again  too  late;  he  have  sail  for  Shanghai.  I  find 
that  American  ships  sometime  go  from  Shanghai  to 
Manila  in  ballast;  sometime  to  'Frisco;  seldom  take 
cargo  out  of  Shanghai.  I  ship  for  Hong-Kong;  I 
desert  at  Anjer ;  I  cross  over  to  Batavia ;  then  I  work 
my  way  to  Manila  in  native  craft.  The  consul  tell 
me  that  the  big  ship  have  gone  from  Shanghai  to 
'Frisco.  I  cannot  catch  him  there,  but  I  know  that 
next  port  is  Liverpool  or  London.  I  ship  for  Liver 
pool  and  meet  his  big  ship  towing  out  of  the  dock  as 

124 


The   Line   of   Least   Resistance 

we  tow  in.  I  see  him  plain  on  his  poop-deck — the 
big,  strong,  handsome  animal — but  I  cannot  reach 
him.  I  shake  my  fist  in  my  rage,  but  I  am  too  late.  I 
find  out  on  shore  that  he  sail  for  Calcutta — but  what 
use  all  this  ?  I  follow  him  around  the  world  for  ten 
year.  He  change  his  ship  three  times.  Once  I  chase 
wrong  ship  for  two  year.  Always  I  think  of  poor 
Lois;  always  I  think  of  the  moment  when  I  reach 
him. 

Each  time  I  come  to  New  York  I  wait ;  I  look  for 
Lois,  to  see  her  just  once  before  I  go.  But  I  never  see 
her  again,  never.  Perhaps  she  is  dead ;  she  must  be ; 
the  life  kills.  So  I  always  go  away;  for  it  was  my 
duty  to  avenge  her. 

" Three  months  ago  I  come  back  to  New  York;  he 
come  back  to  New  York.  But  I  cannot  meet  him 
until  he  sign  his  crew  to  go  out.  There  are  policemen 
in  shipping-office,  with  club  and  revolver.  I  have 
nothing  but  knife,  and  he  stand  behind  the  railing 
while  he  pick  out  his  men.  I  cannot  reach  him  yet; 
but  I  sign  with  him.  He  not  know  me.  I  think  he  not 
know  me  as  musician,  as  gentleman  in  Newport.  And 
now  I  am  rough ;  I  am  wrinkled  and  tanned ;  my  teeth 
gone ;  my  hands,  that  could  play  the  piano,  now  so 
hard,  so  strong.  I  am  able  seaman;  I  can  do  my 
work.  But  no  matter  how  well  I  can  do  my  work,  I 
am  always  abuse  by  the  American  mates.  I  not  care 
this  time;  it  was  to  be  my  last  voyage.  The  first 
mate  of  the  ship  take  dislike ;  he  strike  me ;  he  club 
me  every  day.  I  cannot  please  him.  One  night 

I25 


Land   Ho! 

after  he  amuse  himself  this  way,  he  send  me  up  to 
the  mizzentopsail-yard  without  oil-skins,  to  keep  my 
watch  below.  When  the  man  at  the  wheel  strike  the 
bell  I  must  answer;  I  must  call  out,  'One  bell,  a-ll's 
w-e-11';  'Two  bell,  a-ll's  w-e-11';  'Three  bell,  a-ll's 
w-e-11 ' ;  and  then  I  most  crow  like  rooster  and  flap 
my  arms  like  wings.  But  I  not  care.  Down  below  me 
was  Captain  Anderson,  my  enemy,  the  man  who 
must  die.  It  was  black  night  with  rain.  The  ship 
was  under  to'gallantsail  with  the  wind  about  a  point 
free,  so  that  the  man  at  the  wheel  steer  by  compass, 
not  by  the  wind ;  he  not  look  aloft.  A  Pernambuco 
steamer — all  lights,  every  window  and  dead-light — 
come  up  astern  and  pass  to  windward.  I  know  all 
hands  look ;  I  know  now  my  time.  The  second  mate 
have  the  deck;  I  see  him  at  weather  mizzen-rigging 
looking  at  steamer.  The  watch  are  forward,  looking 
too.  The  man  at  the  wheel,  he  look  at  steamer; 
he  look  at  compass.  I  know  he  not  see  well ;  the 
binnacle-light  blind  him.  I  am  on  weather  yard- 
arm.  I  cross  over ;  I  climb  down  lee  leach  of  lower 
topsail  to  cro' jack -yard.  I  crawl  in.  The  cro'- 
jack- bunt  lines  are  stop  with  twine  at  the  blocks, 
but  I  break  the  stops  and  overhaul.  I  find  that  lee 
middle  -  buntline  is  belayed  at  the  fife-rail  and  will 
bear  my  weight.  So  I  go  down,  forward  of  the 
sail,  on  the  lee  middle-buntline.  The  second  mate 
he  cannot  see  ;  the  man  at  the  wheel  he  cannot 
see,  even  when  I  reach  the  lee  rigging  below  the  sail, 
for  the  quarter-boat  is  in  the  way.  The  men  for- 

126 


The   Line   of   Least   Resistance 

ward,  they  might  see,  but  they  far  off  and  look  at  the 
steamer.  I  am  in  the  lee  alleyway.  I  crouch  and 
creep  forward,  around  the  corner  of  the  house.  I 
reach  the  companionway  and  go  down.  I  pass  the 
first  mate's  room  and  see  him  sleep  by  his  lamp. 
Shall  I  kill  him  ?  Shall  I  punish  him  for  his  abuse  ? 
No,  he  only  poor,  ignorant  brute.  But  I  see  his 
knife — it  was  big  jack-knife — on  his  desk,  on  his  log 
book.  I  take  his  knife;  I  feel  its  sharp  point,  its 
sharp  edge.  I  go  into  the  dining-room;  I  listen  at 
the  door  of  after-cabin ;  I  hear  him  snore — the  big, 
strong  animal.  I  softly  open  the  door  and  creep  in. 
I  see  him  in  his  state-room,  in  his  berth.  I  close  the 
door  so  it  will  not  slam  with  the  ship's  heave.  I  think 
of  Lois.  I  approach.  Ah!  Shall  I  tell  you  more? 
What  use.  It  was  murder,  yes.  He  not  even  groan. 
He  sit  up ;  then  he  fall  back  and  lie  still.  My  work 
was  done. 

"  Then  I  go  back.  I  see  the  steamer  through  the 
weather  companion  -  door.  I  reached  the  alleyway 
and  climb  the  rigging.  The  second  mate — he  still 
look  at  the  steamer.  The  man  at  the  wheel — he  look. 
The  men  forward — they  look.  I  climb  the  buntline ; 
I  climb  the  leach  of  topsail ;  I  crawl  to  weather  top 
sail-yard-arm.  Nobody  see  me.  And  then  four 
bells  strike  below  me.  I  answer  and  crow.  I  crow 
so  loud.  I  put  myself  in  it ;  I  put  my  love  for  Lois, 
my  despair,  my  wrecked  life,  my  long  agony  of 
pursuit,  my  triumph,  my  vengeance — I  put  my  soul 
in  that  crow.  I  crow  so  loud,  so  long,  that  the 

127 


Land   Ho! 

second  mate  call  me  down  and  tell  me  go  sleep  and  be 
quiet;  and  I  go,  for  it  was  my  watch  below.  They 
find  the  captain  before  eight  bells.  It  come  on  to 
blow  hard,  and  the  second  mate  call  him ;  then  when 
he  not  answer,  he  go  down." 

Here  I  interrupted,  and,  directing  my  stenographer 
to  include  my  part  of  the  dialogue,  asked  him  why, 
having  escaped  suspicion,  he  had  confessed — whether 
or  not  it  was  to  save  the  man  who  had  ill-treated 
him. 

"That  no  matter,"  he  answered.  "He  only 
American  mate — a  dog,  a  brute ;  he  know  no  better. 
Besides,  I  am  grateful ;  he  masthead  me  on  the  mizzen 
instead  of  the  main.  I  owe  to  him  my  opportunity. 
Now  I  will  die." 

"Not  necessarily,"  I  said;  "yours  is  a  case  where 
insanity  can  easily  be  proven — with  a  few  witnesses, 
and  perhaps  some  old  photographs." 

"  I  not  insane." 

"We  can  claim  it,  to  save  you  from  hanging. 
Where  is  Jules  Jacquin?" 

"I  not  know.     I  not  care." 

"Where  is  Lois  Mont  rose?" 

"Lois,  Lois — she  must  be  dead.     The  life  kills." 

"  Perhaps  not.     Her  testimony  might  be  valuable. 

"Her  testimony?  Would  she  be  alive?  Would 
she  come?  Can  you  find  her?  Can  I  see  her?  I 
would  live  for  that — just  to  look  at  her — perhaps  to 
touch  her  hand.  Yes,  yes,  she  is  perhaps  alive;  she 
will  be  sorry.  Tell  her  I  die  for  her;  I  have  avenge 

128 


The   Line   of   Least   Resistance 

her.  I  would  see  her;  I  would  hear  the  voice;  the 
old,  grand  tone,  the  music  I  love.  Here,  give  her 
this  that  she  gave  from  her  good  heart.  I  give  it  back 
if  she  will  come. ' ' 

He  tore  into  the  ragged  lining  of  his  vest  and  pro 
duced  a  nickel,  worn  smooth,  which  I  took  from  him. 
He  was  too  excited  now  for  coherent  conversation, 
and  I  left  him,  telling  him  that  I  would  try  and  find 
her. 

II 

"Jules  Jacquin,  violinist,  employed  at  Newport 
during  summer  of  1870  .  .  .  died  at  Boston  six  years 
ago. 

"  Lois  Faranac,  alias  Lois  Montrose,  American 
birth,  French  parentage,  .  .  .  educated  in  France,  .  .  . 
was  sequestered  by  her  parents  from  the  time  of 
leaving  school  until  she  was  of  legal  age,  for  reasons 
connected  with  the  inheriting  of  a  large  property 
and  the  avoidance  and  tiring-out  of  an  undesired 
fiance  to  whom  she  had  been  betrothed  in  infancy 
.  .  ,  spent  the  summer  of  1870  at  Newport  as  Lois 
Montrose,  and  left  hurriedly  to  take  passage  in  the 
ship  Sunset  for  a  voyage  around  the  world  .  .  .  was 
of  age  on  her  return,  and,  coming  into  her  property, 
made  her  debut  in  New  York  society  ...  in  1873  was 
presented  to  the  queen,  and  the  same  year  married 
William  Jerrold  Floyd,  an  American  millionaire  .  .  . 
is  the  mother  of  four  children  ...  is  a  leader  in  her 

129 


Land   Ho! 

set,  and  in  church  and  philanthropic  work  ...  is 
now  living  at  5 —  Fifth  Avenue,  New  York  City." 

The  above,  containing  all  that  has  a  bearing  on  the 
matter  in  hand,  I  condense  from  the  report  of  the 
detective  whom  I  employed.  I  had  hoped — pro 
fessionally — that  I  could  show  the  jury  as  an  object- 
lesson,  a  wretched  example  of  lost  womanhood,  and 
arouse  a  sympathy  for  my  client ;  but  I  realized,  on 
reading  the  report,  that,  unless  the  detective  had 
followed  a  false  trail,  my  case  was  as  good  as  lost; 
that  a  terrible  mistake  had  been  made — a  life  need 
lessly  wasted  and  a  life  needlessly  taken.  However, 
if  Mrs.  Floyd  were  really  Lois  Montrose,  she  alone 
could  explain  the  discrepancy,  and,  as  it  was  my 
business  to  know,  I  wrote  to  her  on  my  office  station 
ery  requesting  an  interview.  Her  answer,  appoint 
ing  the  following  afternoon,  came  back  with  the 
messenger,  and  at  the  hour  specified  I  was  in  her 
parlor. 

One  of  the  queenliest  women  I  have  ever  seen 
came  down  to  meet  me.  Her  hair — a  wealth  of  it — 
may  have  once  been  of  the  color  described  by  the 
prisoner,  but  it  was  now  a  Titian  red,  golden  only  as 
the  sunlight  from  the  window  touched  it.  She  was 
of  the  blonde  type,  pink  and  white,  and  not  a  line  of 
care  or  trouble  appeared  in  her  face.  Her  eyes  were 
brown,  making  a  striking  combination  of  color;  but 
it  was  her  voice  —  she  spoke — that  impressed  me 
most;  it  was  deep,  rich,  vibrant. 

"I  am  Mrs.  Floyd,"  she  said,  with  a  smile,  as  she 
130 


The   Line   of   Least   Resistance 

waved  me  to  a  chair.  "Please  state  the  nature  of 
your  business." 

It  was  to  be  harder  than  I  had  thought  to  discuss 
this  woman's  past,  and  I  think  my  voice  was  a  little 
unsteady  as  I  said,  rather  abruptly,  "  I  am  here  in 
connection  with  the  murder  of  Captain  Anderson  in 
his  cabin  while  the  ship  was  at  sea." 

There  was  not  a  quiver  of  her  eyelids  as  she  said, 
"How  may  I  assist  you?" 

"You  knew  Captain  Anderson,  I  believe?" 

"I  knew  him?"  Her  eyes  opened  in  surprise. 
"No;  I  have  no  recollection — Captain  Anderson." 
She  seemed  to  be  thinking  deeply. 

"  Did  you  not  make  a  voyage  with  him  in  the  ship 
Sunset  about  fifteen  years  ago?"  I  asked,  watching 
her  face  closely. 

"Oh,  dear  me!  Captain  Bill.  Was  it  he — mur 
dered?"  She  arose  from  the  chair  she  had  taken 
with  an  expression  of  horror  on  her  face,  while  she 
wrung  her  hands  nervously.  "Captain  Bill.  Oh, 
it  is  dreadful.  I  read  of  it  in  the  papers,  but  I  never 
imagined  it  was  our  Captain  Bill.  Why,  he  was  one 
of  the  best  and  kindest  and  j oiliest  men  I  ever  knew. 
Who  would  kill  him  ?  But  they  have  the  murderer, 
have  they  not — the  first  mate?" 

"He  is  innocent,"  I  said,  relentlessly.  "The 
murderer  is  Francois  le  Fevre,  who  has  con 
fessed." 

Again  there  was  no  sign  of  recognition  in  her  face 
as  I  mentioned  this  name.  She  merely  shrugged  her 


Land   Ho ! 

shoulders  and  said,  quietly:  "I  hope  he  will  hang. 
Poor  Captain  Bill." 

Though  doubtful  that  this  woman  would  throw 
any  light  on  the  case,  or  aid  in  any  way,  I  was  re 
solved,  having  started,  to  go  as  far  as  she  would 
permit. 

"He  need  not  hang,"  I  said,  "if  you  care  to  save 
him." 

"I  save  him?  How  can  I?  Or,  rather,  why 
should  I  ?  He  killed  a  good,  brave  man.  He  was  so 
kind.  Why,  he  taught  me  navigation  on  that 
voyage,  and  all  the  sailors'  knots." 

"Do  you  know  Franc, ois  le  Fevre?" 

"I  have  no  recollection  of  him.     Who  is  he?" 

"The  murderer.  He  knew  you  when  you  were 
young;  just  before  you  sailed  on  that  voyage." 

Her  face  wore  a  puzzled  look.  "He  was  your 
music  teacher  at  Newport,"  I  said. 

"Oh,"  she  answered,  disdainfully,  while  a  slight 
flush  came  to  her  face.  "That  Frenchman;  that 
exquisite.  Yes,  I  knew  him.  Has  he  developed  to 
murder?  I  remember  him  now.  He  was  very 
amusing;  it  was  so  funny  to  hear  him  make  love  in 
his  broken  English.  I  flirted  with  him,  I  am  sorry 
to  say.  I. was  very  young,  just  out  of  school, 
and  with  no  more  dignity  than  has  any  other 
girl  of  twenty.  But  why  did  he  kill  Captain 
Bill?" 

"  Pardon  me,  Mrs.  Floyd ;  I  will  tell  you  in  time. 
First,  if  you  will  permit  me,  I  would  like  to  ask  you 

132 


The   Line   of   Least   Resistance 

a  few  questions.  Have  you  seen  Franc,  ois  le  Fevre 
since  you  left  Newport  that  time  ?" 

"  Never.  He  had  passed  out  of  my  life.  I  would 
not  have  remembered  his  name  had  you  not  men 
tioned  it  and  described  him." 

"  Have  you  ever  been  on  the  stage,  Mrs.  Floyd — 
in  the  ballet,  for  instance?  Were  you  not  once  a 
member  of  the  '  Black  Crook '  company?" 

The  effect  of  this  thrust  was  more  than  I  an 
ticipated.  The  flush  extended  to  her  throat,  and  she 
arose,  with  indignation  and  scorn  in  her  eyes,  and 
walked  the  full  length  of  the  room,  standing  a  mo 
ment  in  a  corner  with  her  back  towards  me.  Then 
she  returned,  with  a  white  face  and  tearful  eyes. 

"I  cannot  imagine,  sir,"  she  said,  and  her  musical 
voice  trembled  with  anger,  "why  you  have  probed 
into  my  past  or  what  I  have  to  do  with  this  case. 
Only  the  thought  that  somehow,  I  do  not  know  how, 
I  may  be  of  service  in  the  cause  of  justice,  that  I 
may  possibly  aid  in  bringing  to  punishment  the 
murderer  of  my  old  friend,  induces  me  to  continue 
this  interview.  It  is  due  myself  to  explain  how  and 
why  I  was  on  the  stage.  I  was  mistress  of  my  time 
and  money;  I  was  young,  foolish,  and  stage-struck, 
but  with  no  dramatic  ability.  I  could  have  bought 
a  theatre  and  hired  a  company ;  but  I  knew  that  I 
needed  training  and  was  too  impatient  to  take  a 
course  of  instruction.  As  I  could  not  act,  I  obtained 
a  position  as  chorus-girl,  and  effectually  disguised 
myself  with  paint  and  'make-up'  so  that  none  in 


Land   Ho! 

the  audience  would  know  me.  Mr.  Floyd,  whom  I 
married  later,  and  my  brother,  two  harum  -  scarum 
youngsters,  were  in  the  secret,  and  escorted  me  to  and 
from  the  theatre  until  the  mood  left  me.  How  this 
one  experience  of  my  life,  of  which  I  am  ashamed, 
has  come  to  your  knowledge,  is  beyond  me.  I  was 
not  recognized;  I  am  sure  I  was  not.  Every  paper 
in  New  York  would  have  mentioned  the  escapade  in 
such  a  case." 

4 'You  were  recognized.  Francois  le  Fevre  was 
a  member  of  the  orchestra  and  saw  beneath  the 
powder  and  paint." 

"The  contemptible  scoundrel.  So  he  told  of  it." 
Her  fingers  worked  nervously,  and  the  bitter  speech 
left  her  lips  through  closed  teeth. 

"  He  also  said,  Mrs.  Floyd,  that  he  met  you  on  the 
street,  late  at  night,  in  the  lowest  region  of  New 
York;  that  you  were  dressed  very  poorly,  evidently 
suffering  from  extreme  poverty ;  that  he  spoke  to  you ; 
that  you  were  ashamed  of  your  position  and  did  not 
answer  him;  and  that  a  big  man  in  your  company 
struck  him  and  handed  him  over  to  the  police." 

The  astonishment  in  her  face  left  no  room  for  any 
indignation  she  may  have  felt  to  show  itself.  I  re 
minded  her  that  her  memory  was  treacherous,  and 
asked  her  to  think.  After  a  moment  a  light  came 
to  her  eyes  and  she  looked  frankly  at  me. 

"I  think  I  remember,"  she  said.  "We  were 
slumming.  My  husband  was  one  of  the  party.  It 
was  a  questionable  amusement  at  best;  more  so  in 


The   Line   of   Least   Resistance 

our  case,  for  we  went  in  disguise.  I  wore  my  cook's 
oldest  dress  and  bonnet.  I  remember  a  tramp 
accosting  me,  who  seemed  to  be  crazy.  The  detec 
tive  whom  we  had  employed  as  escort  knocked  him 
down  and  called  a  policeman.  So  that  was  your 
murderer!  To  think  that  a  pitiful  weakling  like  that 
could  kill  such  a  man  as  Captain  Bill!" 

"He  killed  him  in  the  dark,"  I  said,  resolved  to 
carry  out  the  terrible  farce  to  its  end.  "  He  drove  a 
knife  into  his  heart  as  he  slept."  She  shuddered. 

"Do  you  remember,  Mrs.  Floyd,"  I  asked,  "of 
giving  Franc. ois  le  Fevre  a  nickel  when,  blind  and 
destitute,  he  was  begging  on  the  street?" 

"  I  do  not  remember.  I  always  give  them  some 
thing.  It  is  unlucky  to  pass  them  by." 

"Here  is  the  nickel,"  I  said,  as  I  drew  it  forth. 
"  He  has  asked  me  to  give  it  to  you." 

"I  do  not  want  it,"  she  answered,  petulantly. 
"  What  is  the  meaning  of  all  this,  sir  ?"  she  added,  as 
she  glanced  at  a  timepiece  on  the  mantel. 

"Mrs.  Floyd,"  I  rejoined,  pocketing  the  nickel,  "I 
will  say  that  I  believe  every  word  you  have  told  me. 
But,  that  you  may  know  of  another  aspect  of  the  case 
which  appears  true  to  Franc. ois  le  Fevre,  I  will  read 
you  his  statement,  if  you  will  listen." 

"  I  do  not  care  to." 

"You  will  never  forgive  yourself  if  you  do  not. 
You  will  read  it  in  the  papers  when  the  trial  comes 
off,  and  will  then  know  the  vital  connection  which 
you  have  had  with  this  murder." 


Land   Ho ! 

"I  will  listen,"  she  said,  as  she  seated  herself  and 
folded  her  hands  with  a  bored  expression  on  her  face. 
I  drew  forth  the  type- written  story  and  began.  She 
uttered  a  few  exclamations  of  astonishment  or  veri 
fication  as  I  reached  points  of  the  narrative  which 
concerned  her,  and,  looking  at  her  face  occasionally, 
I  noticed  that  it  was  taking  on  a  strained  intensity 
of  expression.  When  I  finished  with  his  passionate 
appeal  to  me  to  bring  her  to  him — that  he  might 
look  at  her  and  hear  her  voice  before  he  died — she 
had  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  and  was  crying 
softly.  She  had  the  heart  of  a  woman,  after  all,  I 
thought,  and  a  little  hope  came  to  me  that  she  would 
help  in  saving  his  life. 

"Mrs.  Floyd,"  I  said,  gently,  "I  am  the  prisoner's 
attorney.  Is  it  expecting  too  much  if  I  asked  you  to 
aid  me  in  saving  him  from  the  gallows?" 

''How  can  I  assist,"  she  asked,  drying  her  eyes. 
"It  is  all  a  mistake — a  horrid  mistake — based  upon 
the  jealousy  and  slander  of  his  friend.  There  was 
nothing  between  Captain  Anderson  and  myself.  Yes, 
he  did  kiss  me — against  my  will — but  I  punished  him 
for  it,  and  he  apologized  abjectly.  Later — at  sea — 
he  proposed  to  me  and  I  refused  him.  Why,  my 
mother  and  aunt  accompanied  me  on  that  voyage." 

"  I  wish  to  prove  insanity.  Will  you  testify  to 
what  you  have  said?" 

"  Appear  on  the  witness-stand  ?  Open  my  private 
life  to  the  public?  A  woman  in  my  position — a 
witness  in  a  murder  trial?  Not  I." 

136 


The   Line   of   Least   Resistance 

"Then  he  must  hang,  Mrs.  Floyd.  He  has  con 
fessed,  and  glories  in  his  work." 

She  made  no  response,  and  looked  out  the  window. 

"  Will  you  not  visit  him  ?"  I  continued,  as  the  hope 
left  me  and  my  thoughts  travelled  from  the  worn 
nickel  in  my  pocket  to  the  deluded  wretch  down  in 
the  Tombs.  "Will  you  not  see  him  and  cheer  his 
last  days  ?  Remember,  his  heart  and  soul — his  whole 
existence  —  for  all  these  long  years  since  you  first 
knew  him  has  been  one  steady  devotion  to  you." 

"  I  cannot  do  that,  either,"  she  said,  as  she  brought 
her  gaze  within  the  room.  Then  she  burst  into  tears 
again  and  swayed  back  and  forth  in  the  chair.  "  I 
am  too  well  known."  Her  voice  was  broken,  and 
her  chest  rose  and  fell  with  the  violence  of  the  emo 
tion  she  was  struggling  to  suppress.  "My  children 
— my  position — it  would  start  all  kinds  of  gossip; 
tongues  would  wag  for  a  year." 

"Then  will  you  not  write  to  him?" 

"  No,  no,  no,  I  will  not.  It  is  hard  enough  to  bear 
as  it  is.  I  would  like  never  to  think  of  it  again." 

There  was  a  slight  note  of  laughter  in  her  voice 
now,  and,  being  a  married  man,  I  knew  what  was 
coming — also  the  remedy. 

"Mrs.  Floyd,"  I  said,  sternly,  as  I  rose — for,  be 
sides  wishing  to  forestall  the  hysterical  mood,  I  was 
thoroughly  angry — "you  shall  write.  I  have  the 
power  to  call  you  as  a  witness  at  the  trial,  where  you 
will  have  the  choice  of  three  things — perjury,  con 
tempt  of  court,  and  telling  the  truth.  Whichever 


Land   Ho! 

you  choose,  depend  upon  it  your  private  life  will  be 
given  to  the  world,  for  I  shall  read  his  statement 
to  the  jury.  But,  inasmuch  as  the  disillusioning  of 
this  poor  creature  would  be  cruel  in  the  extreme — 
as  it  would  be  more  merciful  to  let  him  die  in  his 
faith  in  himself  and  his  mission  than  to  save  him  to 
madhouse  confinement,  I  prefer  to  waive  my  right 
to  summon  you,  but  only  on  condition  that  you 
write  as  I  dictate." 

She  had  drawn  herself  to  full  height  and  stepped 
towards  a  bell  on  the  table.  Something  in  my  face 
may  have  arrested  her  hand,  for  she  looked  at  me 
steadily  for  a  moment,  and  then  said,  "  What  must 
I  write?" 

"I  will  show  you."  Tearing  two  blank  leaves 
from  my  note-book,  I  scribbled  on  one,  and  handed 
both  to  her  with  the  pencil. 

"  Transcribe  it  into  your  own  style  of  writing,  Mrs. 
Floyd,  and  sign  your  first  name  only." 

She  read  it  over  and  over,  with  a  little  smile  on 
her  lips — at  first  scornful,  then  weary  and  sad. 

"You  will  promise,"  she  said,  "not  to  bring  me 
further  into  this  case,  and  that  you  will  return  this 
note  to  me  afterwards?" 

"  I  promise  you.     Your  name  shall  never  appear." 

She  copied  the  note  on  the  blank  leaf  and  gave  it 
to  me. 

I  have  always  felt,  even  with  a  full  and  honorable 
consideration  of  my  promise  to  Mrs.  Floyd,  that  had 
I  called  Fran£ois  le  Fevre  to  the  stand  to  tell  his 

138 


The   Line   of   Least   Resistance 

story  and  read  the  note,  the  jury's  verdict  would  not 
have  been  "guilty."  But  professional  scruples,  and 
a  due  regard  for  the  memory  of  Captain  William 
Anderson — and  for  the  eternal  fitness  of  things — 
prevented  me.  I  called  no  witnesses  —  for  I  had 
none — my  defence  consisting  of  an  impassioned  ap 
peal  to  the  feelings  of  the  jury,  which  included  a  hint 
as  to  the  prisoner's  motive,  but  with  no  reference  to 
names,  dates,  or  places. 

His  bearing  throughout  the  trial  was  tranquil, 
abstracted,  and  the  slumbrous  fire  in  his  eye  was 
changed  to  a  soft  light  that  seemed  not  of  earth, 
which  left  them  but  once,  when  he  listened  to  my 
plea  for  his  life ;  he  then  looked  reproachfully  at  me. 

He  was  sane  as  the  judge,  saner  than  some;  but 
he  longed  for  death  and  grew  happier  as  the  day 
of  his  execution  approached.  I  was  allowed  to  ac 
company  him  to  the  scaffold,  where  his  last  volun 
tary  act  was  to  kiss  the  written  lie  I  had  given  him 
and  hand  it  to  me.  It  ran  as  follows : 

"Mv  DEAR  FRANCOIS, — I  have  just  learned  what  you 
have  done  for  me.  You  did  well,  Francois.  He  ruined  both 
our  lives.  Oh,  I  have  wished  so  often  that  I  had  loved  you 
in  time.  I  can  tell  you  now.  I  have  loved  you  since  you 
spoke  to  me  in  Cherry  Street,  but  I  never  could  find  you 
again.  If  I  only  could  live  now  and  you  could  only  be  free! 
But  the  lawyer  says  there  is  no  hope  for  you,  and  I  am  dy 
ing —  dying  of  hunger  and  neglect  and  sickness.  I  am 
only  a  bad,  worthless  woman,  Franfois;  but  he  made  me  so 
— and  you  have  punished  him.  I  will  be  dead  before  you 
get  this,  and  I  shall  die  with  your  nickel  in  my  hand.  I 


Land   Ho! 

shall  press  it  to  my  heart.  We  will  meet  soon,  not  in 
heaven,  perhaps,  but  not  in  hell,  I  know,  for  God  is  good. 
Good-bye,  my  Francois — my  darling. 

"Lois." 

However,  there  may  be  an  element  of  prophetic 
truth  in  that  note,  for  when  I  gave  it  to  her  she  asked 
me  for  the  nickel. 


The    Lobster 


WE  called  him  Lobster  from  the  first.  He  was 
overgrown  and  stupid,  his  trousers  bagged  at 
the  knees  and  were  too  short — I  suppose  he  never 
dreamed  of  creasing  them — and  he  wore  celluloid 
collars  and  cuffs  and  any  kind  of  necktie.  He  at 
tended  school  with  us,  but,  aside  from  mathematics 
and  physics — which  he  seemed  to  know  without 
studying — he  could  not  learn.  His  mother  tried  to 
teach  him  how  to  dress,  but  he  took  no  interest — had 
absolutely  no  idea  of  what  makes  a  gentleman.  As 
for  his  sister,  she  said  that  she  preferred  him  as  he 
was,  for  then  he  was  natural ;  but  that  was  just  like 
her. 

He  had  a  most  disagreeable  manner,  too.  He 
would  look  you  right  in  the  eyes  until  you  got 
through  talking,  and  then  say  nothing  at  all,  or  turn 
his  back  on  you.  And  when  he  did  speak  he  would 
make  such  mean  remarks.  For  instance,  a  young 
lady  was  telling  us  how  mortified  she  had  felt  the 
day  before  when  she  lost  her  pedals,  and,  not  having 
learned  to  put  her  feet  on  the  coasters,  was  com- 

141 


Land    Ho! 

pelled  to  ride  her  bicycle  down  a  long  hill  before 
crowds  of  people  with  her  feet  hanging  down  most 
ungracefully;  and  all  the  Lobster  could  find  to  say 
was  that  she  ought  not  to  worry  over  it — that  it  was 
exactly  the  attitude  of  an  angel  in  flight.  I  ad 
vised  the  young  lady  never  to  speak  to  him  again. 

We  did  not  care  to  associate  with  him,  and  he 
spent  most  of  his  spare  time  wandering  about  the 
woods  with  an  old  gun,  or  down  in  a  little  shop  that 
he  had  rigged  up  in  the  garden.  Here  he  would 
busy  himself  for  hours  on  some  kind  of  gimcrackery 
— first  one  thing,  then  another.  One  day — we  were 
all  about  twenty  then — he  brought  out  after  school- 
hours  what  he  called  a  model  flying-machine — a  lot 
of  wings  and  fans  and  clock-work  about  three  feet 
long — and  Charlie  and  Jack  and  I  followed  along  to 
see  the  fun.  He  wound  it  up  and  was  just  ready  to 
start  it  when  Charlie  pushed  me,  and  I  fell  against 
Jack,  who  fell  over  the  machine  and  smashed  it. 
Lobster  looked  awfully  cheap,  and  I  laughed  until  I 
cried,  but  Jack  did  not.  He  coaxed  Lobster  to  fix 
it  up  and  try  it  again  so  that  we  could  see  it  go,  and 
even  helped  him  carry  it  back  to  the  shop.  After  a 
while  they  brought  it  out,  and  this  time  I  pushed 
Charlie  and  he  pushed  Jack.  The  machine  was 
totally  wrecked,  but  we  did  not  laugh  much,  for 
Lobster  got  into  a  terrible  rage.  He  grabbed  Jack 
and  held  him  so  that  he  could  not  move ;  then,  when 
he  had  recovered  his  breath — for  Jack  was  nearly  as 
big  and  strong  as  he  was — he  pounded  his  face  until 

142 


The   Lobster 

Jack  was  nearly  dead  before  he  let  him  go.  He  did 
not  touch  Charlie  and  me.  Lucky  for  him,  too,  for 
we  would  have  had  him  arrested.  That  was  what 
we  hoped  Jack  would  do,  but  when  we  proposed  it  on 
the  way  home  he  just  kicked  us  both  and  said  noth 
ing.  I  thought  it  was  very  unkind,  and  I  never 
knew  him  to  act  so  strangely  before;  for,  the  first 
thing  in  the  morning,  he  apologized  to  Lobster  in  the 
presence  of  the  whole  school,  and  told  Charlie  and 
me  that  he  would  take  it  upon  himself  to  keep  insects 
like  us  from  harassing  him,  and  that  if  anybody  in  the 
school  ever  called  him  Lobster  again  in  his  presence 
he  would  break  that  person's  head. 

So  after  that  we  called  him  George,  and  only  used 
Lobster  in  the  third  person  and  when  Jack  was  not 
around.  They  became  great  friends,  though  why, 
I  could  not  understand,  for  Jack  was  a  gentleman 
and  his  father  had  millions.  He  was  a  good  rider, 
swimmer,  and  yachtsman,  and  owned  the  fastest 
cat-boat  on  the  bay,  while  Lobster  had  neither 
money,  brains,  nor  refinement.  But  his  sister  Jennie 
was  very  pretty  and  very  nice.  At  least  I  thought 
so  then,  and  on  her  account  I  had  to  tolerate  the 
brother  while  I  was  calling  on  her.  But  there  came 
a  time  when  she  told  me  I  had  better  not  call  on  her 
any  more,  and  after  that  I  did  not  care  how  I  treated 
him,  for  I  think  that  he  influenced  her. 

Charlie  took  my  place  and  seemed  to  get  on  very 
well  with  Jennie.  At  least  he  did  a  great  deal  of 
boasting,  though  it  may  have  been  just  to  tease  me. 


Land   Ho ! 

However,  after  Miss  Swinton,  Jack's  sister,  came 
home  from  abroad  I  did  not  care  what  he  said. 

Jennie  was  one  of  those  blonde,  fluffy-haired  girls, 
but  Miss  Grace  Swinton  was  tall  and  dark-eyed — a 
statue- like  sort  of  girl.  She  had  finished  her  educa 
tion  in  Europe,  and  was  very  self-possessed  and  ac 
complished  —  as  much  an  athlete,  almost,  as  her 
brother — and  she  had  such  a  dreamy  way  of  listening 
while  you  talked  that  you  hardly  knew  what  to  say, 
and  when  you  were  through  talking  you  could  not  tell 
whether  you  had  impressed  her  or  not. 

We  graduated  in  time,  and  Jack  went  to  college, 
while  Charlie  and  I  secured  positions  in  the  city, 
going  to  business  early  in  the  morning  and  going 
into  society  every  evening.  I  got  on  swimmingly 
with  Miss  Swinton.  I  knew  she  liked  me  because, 
after  we  had  become  well  acquainted,  it  was  so 
easy  to  make  her  laugh,  and  I  should  most  cer 
tainly  have  proposed  to  her  if  Charlie  had  not  inter 
fered  so  much.  Something  had  happened  between 
him  and  Jennie,  for  he  stopped  calling  on  lier,  en 
croaching  on  my  preserves  instead.  We  almost 
quarrelled  about  it,  but  Jack  came  home  at  vacation 
time  and  spoiled  both  our  chances,  for  he  took  up 
with  the  Lobster  and  brought  him  to  his  house.  Then 
Miss  Swinton  seemed  to  lose  all  interest  in  Charlie 
and  me  and  developed  a  most  unaccountable  in 
terest  in  Lobster,  going  down  with  her  brother  to 
Lobster's  old  shop,  where  he  would  talk  mechan 
ics  with  her  and  show  her  his  inventions.  His 

144 


The    Lobster 

last  was  a  chainless  bicycle  which  he  had  just 
patented. 

He  made  frequent  trips  to  the  city  on  this  business, 
and  would  come  back  with  new  collars  and  clothes 
and  things  to  make  himself  appear  better,  but  he 
could  not  succeed  in  this,  no  matter  what  he  wore, 
and  neither  Charlie  nor  I  could  understand  what  Miss 
Swinton  saw  in  him.  They  would  take  long  walks 
together  just  the  same  as  though  he  was  her  social 
equal,  and  Charlie  and  I  would  fellow  a  short  way 
back,  until  one  day — well,  we  got  tired  of  following 
them.  We  told  Jack,  however,  that  he  ought  to  look 
out  for  his  sister  and  not  allow  her  to  go  walking 
with  such  a  ruffianly  brute,  but  he  merely  said  some 
thing  about  the  Lobster's  selling  his  patent  for 
twenty  thousand  and  royalties,  and  said  something 
more  about  folks  minding  their  own  business.  So 
we  stopped  trying  to  meet  Miss  Swinton  in  society. 

When  the  term  began  Jack  went  back  to  college, 
and  a  few  days  later  something  occurred  which  pre 
vented  the  Lobster  from  meeting  Miss  Swinton  in 
society.  Charlie  and  I  overtook  him  as  we  walked 
up  from  the  station  in  the  evening.  His  hat  was  gone, 
and  he  was  muddy,  damp,  and  dishevelled.  He  could 
barely  stumble  along,  and  every  few  yards  he  would 
stop  and  cling  to  a  tree  or  paling  for  support.  But 
he  was  not  intoxicated,  as  we  thought  at  first.  He 
told  us,  when  we  inquired,  that  he  had  been  out  with 
his  gun  and  early  in  the  day  had  fallen  into  a  swamp. 
Then,  to  prevent  catching  cold,  he  had  bought  qui- 


Land   Ho! 

nine  in  a  neighboring  town  without  getting  direc 
tions,  and,  as  he  had  never  taken  it  before,  he  igno- 
rantly  swallowed  the  whole  purchase  —  sixty -five 
grains.  It  would  have  killed  Charlie  or  me,  but  only 
weakened  him  and  made  him  dizzy.  We  accom 
panied  him  along,  for  his  way  home  led  past  the 
Swintons'  place,  and  we  wanted  to  see  any  possible 
results.  Sure  enough,  there  was  Miss  S  win  ton  at  the 
window. 

That  evening  we  met  her — accidentally — and  she 
inquired  about  Lobster.  Now  if  we  had  told  a  lie 
there  would  be  some  reason  in  blaming  us,  but  we 
did  not — we  simply  said,  jokingly,  too*  that  he  had 
taken  too  much  of  something  or  other,  which  was  the 
truth.  Miss  Swinton  merely  smiled  a  little  and  turn 
ed  the  subject.  We  never  supposed  that  she  had 
taken  us  seriously  until,  a  few  evenings  later,  when 
Lobster  had  recovered,  we  were  near  the  Swintons' 
place — accidentally,  understand — and  saw  the  Lob 
ster  go  up  the  front  steps  and  a  minute  later  come 
down.  And  there  was  Miss  Swinton  at  the  window. 
She  was  "not  at  home"  to  him,  and  all  in  all  we 
agreed  to  let  the  matter  alone.  We  had  been  told  to 
mind  our  own  business,  and  it  served  him  right  for 
his  presumption.  Next  day  Miss  Swinton  left  for 
the  city  to  spend  the  winter. 

Though  both  she  and  Jack  were  back  for  the 
Christmas  holidays,  I  am  sure  that  neither  met  the 
Lobster,  who  had  taken  to  his  old  clothes  again  and 
become  more  unsociable  than  ever.  During  holiday 

146 


The    Lobster 

week  he  found  urgent  business  in  the  neighboring 
town  where  they  were  making  his  bicycles,  and  of 
course  Jack  was  puzzled  and  called  repeatedly  at  his 
house.  But  Jennie  could  not  tell  what  ailed  him, 
and  I  supposed  Miss  Swinton  had  never  spoken  of  the 
matter  at  all,  while  the  Lobster,  of  course,  was  too 
stubborn  to  tell  anybody.  So  things  went  on  in  this 
way — Charlie  and  I  going  into  society  every  evening, 
and  calling  on  every  young  lady  in  town  except  Miss 
Swinton  and  Jennie — until  the  following  summer, 
when  Jack  came  home  on  vacation  again  and  his 
sister  returned  from  the  city. 

Jack  hunted  for  Lobster,  but  the  big  fool  was  still 
on  his  dignity,  taking  long  bicycle  rides  and  getting 
up  early  and  returning  late,  so  that  all  Jack  found 
when  he  called  was  Jennie.  However,  he  persisted, 
which  at  the  time  seemed  strange  in  Jack,  and  after 
a  while  Miss  Swinton,  too,  became  very  friendly  with 
Jennie,  and  the  three  were  always  together — so 
much  so  that  Charlie  and  I  began  to  fear  that  Jennie 
was  concocting  some  scheme  for  her  brother's  bene 
fit.  But  the  Lobster  himself,  in  his  own  peculiar 
way,  reassured  us.  He  was  in  town  one  day,  and 
Charlie  and  I  were  right  behind  him — he  was  going 
our  way,  but  of  course  we  did  not  join  him — when 
Miss  Swinton  came  around  the  corner  and  met  him 
face  to  face.  We  saw  her  start  slightly  and  flush  a 
deep  red,  but  Lobster  swung  by  her  with  his  long 
stride  as  though  not  conscious  that  she  existed.  He 
was  anything  but  a  gentleman :  he  did  not  know  that 
11  M7 


Land   Ho! 

a  young  lady  is  not  to  be  taken  too  seriously.  Miss 
Swinton  was  so  shocked  by  his  manner  that  when  she 
passed  Charlie  and  me  she  was  frightfully  pale  and 
did  not  even  see  us.  And  we  were  so  agitated  our 
selves  by  this  occurrence  that  we  did  not  make  our 
selves  known,  as  we  might  have  done  under  ordinary 
circumstances. 

Then  came  that  awful  trip  in  the  yacht.  Jack  had 
fitted  out  his  cat-boat,  and  we  learned  in  a  round 
about  way  that  he  would  take  his  sister  and  Jennie 
for  a  sail  down  the  bay.  So  we  put  on  our  yachting 
suits  that  morning  and  managed  to  be  at  the  club 
house  when  they  came  down.  Jack  invited  us,  but 
in  a  rather  unkind  way,  I  admit.  He  said,  "Come 
along,  and  if  there's  any  wind  I'll  take  the  starch  out 
of  those  duds." 

We  accepted,  of  course,  though  we  would  not  have 
gone  without  Miss  Swinton,  for  we  did  not  like  yacht 
ing  any  more  than  we  liked  Jennie.  Miss  Swinton 
was  very  agreeable  and  Jennie  tried  to  be,  but  found 
herself  almost  ignored,  for  we  addressed  ourselves 
only  to  Miss  Swinton  and  Jack.  It  was  lovely 
weather,  and  we  sailed  miles  and  miles  down  the 
shore  until  long  after  mid -day,  then  dropped  the 
anchor  in  a  little  bay  to  have  luncheon.  Then,  just 
as  we  had  finished  and  were  lighting  our  cigarettes 
and  were  having  the  most  enjoyable  time,  who  should 
appear  on  the  beach  but  the  Lobster  with  a  smashed 
bicycle  on  his  shoulder! 

Jack  was  all  excitement  at  once,  and  hailed  him, 
148 


The   Lobster 

but  the  Lobster  started  towards  the  road  with  his 
wheel,  paying  no  attention  whatever.  So  Jack 
jumped  into  the  little  boat  and  pulled  ashore,  We 
saw  them  meet,  shake  hands,  and  talk  a  little,  then 
turn  back  to  the  beach.  Out  they  came  in  the  boat, 
talking  earnestly,  and  Charlie  and  I  were  awfully 
afraid  that  they  were  explaining  things  concerning 
us.  But  it  was  only  Lobster's  way  of  telling  how  he 
had  left  h  s  repair  kit  at  home  and  smashed  the 
wheel.  He  was  still  talking  as  he  lifted  the  machine 
over  the  rail  and  climbed  up,  saying  that  this  meet 
ing  saved  him  a  ten-mile  tramp  to  the  station. 

Miss  Swinton  had  gone  right  down  into  the  cabin 
when  she  saw  h'm  coming,  but  my  friend  and  I  greet 
ed  him  decently,  and  Jennie  made  some  sisterly  com 
ments  on  the  condition  of  his  clothes — all  dust  and 
mud.  He  just  nodded  to  Charlie  and  me,  told 
Jennie  to  stop  scolding,  and  asked  Jack  where  he 
was  to  put  his  wheel.  "Down  below,"  said  Jack, 
and  down  went  Lobster.  Charlie  and  I  strained  our 
ears,  but  there  was  nothing  said,  and  soon  he  came 
up,  red  as  a  beet.  Miss  Swinton,  equally  constrain 
ed  and  embarrassed,  followed  in  a  few  moments.  In 
fact,  it  was  very  embarrassing  for  all  of  us,  except 
Jack  and  Jennie.  They  did  not  seem  to  mind. 

We  started  back  now,  but  had  not  gone  far  before 
the  wind  died  away  and  it  began  raining.  The 
young  ladies  went  below,  and  Charlie  and  I  followed 
to  close  all  the  little  round  windows  in  the  cabin  to 
keep  the  rain  out.  Then  we  stayed  there,  in  spite 

149 


Land    Ho! 

of  Jack's  remarks,  for  we  did  not  want  to  spoil  our 
clothes.  Lobster,  however,  remained  up  in  the  rain. 
His  clothes  could  not  be  spoiled.  But  we  found  his 
old  bicycle  was  right  in  everybody's  way,  and  his 
sister  called  to  him  to  take  care  of  it.  So  he  came 
down,  too,  and  was  just  putting  it  into  a  berth — all 
dirt  as  it  was — when  Jack  yelled  down : 

"  Stand  by  for  a  squall.     Come  up,  all  of  you." 

Before  we  could  get  to  the  steps  there  was  an 
awful  sound  of  wind,  and  the  boat  began  to  tip.  We 
all  slid  over  to  the  side  of  the  cabin,  then  a  lot  of 
water  came  down  the  steps,  the  door  closed  with  a 
bang,  and  we  were  in  darkness  with  the  floor  and 
ceiling  perpendicular.  The  boat  was  on  her  side. 

Of  course  every  one  screamed — all  but  Lobster, 
who  swore.  He  groped  his  way  to  the  door  but 
could  not  open  it.  Then  he  growled : 

"What  fool  built  this  death-trap.  Door  at  the 
side  and  opening  outward." 

Just  then  all  the  little  round  windows  that  were 
under  water  opened  and  let  in  a  perfect  rush  of  it. 
Lobster  yelled  to  close  them,  and  we  had  to  get  right 
down  almost  under  water  in  order  to  do  it.  But  one 
was  broken,  and  when  Lobster  learned  of  it  he  made 
us  climb  up  and  make  sure  that  the  upper  ones  were 
screwed  tight.  When  this  was  done  the  cabin  was 
half  full  of  water,  and  we  sat  on  the  centreboard - 
box,  which  made  a  broad  shelf  in  the  middle.  Jennie 
was  awfully  frightened,  crying  like  a  baby,  and  she 
asked  her  brother  if  there  was  any  real  danger. 


The   Lobster 

"No,  little  girl,"  he  answered,  "we  won't  sink  un 
less  the  air  leaks  out.  We're  floating  on  compressed 
air;  that's  what  makes  our  ears  buzz  so.  The  door 
is  under  water,  and  so  is  the  broken  dead-light,  but 
the  upper  ones  seem  to  be  tight  and  the  centreboard- 
box  opens  on  deck,  so  not  a  drop  more  of  water  can 
get  in ;  and  before  long  Jack  can  get  help  to  right  us, 
but  we  must  remain  quiet  as  possible." 

Then  I  heard  him  mutter,  "  It  happened  once 
before."  But  at  the  time  I  did  not  know  what  he 
meant. 

We  could  hear  the  sound  of  the  storm  above  and 
Jack's  boot-heels  on  the  door  as  though  he  were  try 
ing  to  kick  it  in.  Lobster  climbed  back  and  played 
a  tattoo  on  the  ceiling  with  his  knife  handle,  and  we 
learned  afterwards  that  he  was  telling  him  by  teleg 
raphy,  which  both  of  them  understood,  to  cut  away 
the  mast  if  he  could  but  not  to  open  the  door,  as  it 
would  sink  the  boat  and  drown  us  all. 

I  was  a  little  frightened,  I  admit,  and  I  know 
Charlie  was,  too,  for  I  heard  him  saying  his  prayers, 
and  after  a  while  I  heard  him  crying.  He  said  after 
wards  that  he  did  not  cry  until  he  heard  me  crying, 
but  I  know  better.  Jennie  was  still  crying,  but  not 
a  sound  came  from  Miss  Swinton's  lips.  Lobster  had 
not  spoken  to  her  nor  she  to  him. 

By  this  time  we  could  see  things  by  the  little  light 
which  came  through  the  round  windows,  and  Lobster 
left  the  steps  and  climbed  towards  his  bicycle,  which 
he  examined  all  over.  It  was  badly  damaged,  but 


Land   Ho! 

the  big  foot-pump  which  he  always  carried  under  the 
top-bar  was  intact  and  also  the  tire-valves.  He  un 
wound  the  wire  which  held  one  of  the  valves  to  the 
tire  and  cut  off  the  coupling-screw  at  the  end  of  the 
pump -hose,  replacing  it  with  the  valve,  which  he 
bound  on  with  the  wire  exactly  as  it  had  been  bound 
to  the  neck  of  the  tire.  In  spite  of  our  danger  he  was 
the  same  ill-mannered  boor,  for  when  I  asked  him 
why  he  did  that  he  answered,  without  looking  at  me 
at  all: 

"To  make  little  boys  ask  questions." 

He  unscrewed  the  head  of  the  pump,  took  out  the 
plunger,  and  reversed  the  leather ;  then  he  put  it  back. 
I  did  not  understand  until  afterwards  that  he  was 
changing  an  air-compressor  into  an  air-extractor — a 
contrivance  to  pull  air  into  the  cabin.  When  he  had 
talked  with  Jack  again  by  their  telegraphy,  he  dived 
under  water  and  secured  a  small  brace  and  bit  from 
a  locker.  Then,  telling  Charlie  to  "stand  by  with 
the  pump,"  he  bored  a  hole  in  the  side  of  the  cabin 
over  our  heads,  stopped  the  hole  with  his  finger  until 
Charlie  had  reached  him,  and  then  screwed  in  the 
valve,  which  had  an  outside  thread  and  was  just  the 
size  of  the  hole.  Next  he  firmly  bound  the  pump  by 
its  stirrup  to  the  thumb-screw  of  one  of  the  windows, 
so  that  it  hung  upside  down.  He  pumped  carefully 
a  few  strokes,  found  that  it  worked,  and  said : 

"  Good  enough.  No  present  danger  of  suffocation, 
though  we'll  have  to  pump  against  two  atmospheres 
at  least.  Now,  listen,  all  of  you.  One  must  pump, 

152 


The   Lobster 

the  rest  remaining  quiet  so  as  to  consume  as  little 
oxygen  as  possible.  You  two  Miss  Nancys  will  take 
turns  with  me  at  the  pump — and  if  you  don't  stop 
that  snivelling  I'll  hold  your  heads  under  water  until 
you  do." 

He  was  always  the  same.  No  extremity  of  danger 
or  example  of  cultivated  society  could  make  the  least 
improvement  in  him. 

Then  began  that  horrible  labor  for  life  which  lasted 
eighteen  hours,  while  Lobster  made  new  plungers  for 
the  pump  as  they  wore  out,  from  the  leather  in  his 
shoes,  and  afterwards  from  Charlie's  and  mine.  Jennie 
stopped  crying  after  a  while,  and  she  and  Miss  Swin- 
ton  sat  with  their  arms  about  each  other,  while  Lob 
ster,  Charlie,  and  I  took  turns  at  the  pumping.  By 
lying  face  upward  on  the  centreboard-box  we  could 
just  reach  the  handle  and  pull  downward,  but  it  was 
awfully  hard  work  and  every  breath  of  air  that  we 
pulled  in  came  charged  with  the  odor  of  the  lubricant 
in  the  pump. 

After  a  time — a  long  time,  during  which  Jack  up 
above  occasionally  hammered — the  boat  began  to 
pitch  and  toss,  and  Lobster  said  that  if  she  were  not 
half  full  of  water  she  would  right  herself  now  even 
against  the  weight  of  the  mast  and  sail.  Either  the 
motion  of  the  boat  affected  me  or  it  was  the  bad  air, 
and  I  became  so  deathly  sick  and  weak  I  could  not 
pump.  The  others  continued  until  Charlie,  too,  gave 
out.  Then  Lobster  pumped  alone.  I  noticed  how 
hard  and  heavy  he  breathed,  and  that  Miss  Swinton 

JS3 


Land   Ho ! 

was  the  same.  Perhaps  it  was  because  they  were 
much  larger  than  the  rest  of  us  and  really  needed 
more  air.  I  know  my  own  suffering  was  frightful. 
By-and-by  I  heard  Cha  lie  crying  again  and  trying 
to  pray.  It  made  me  think  of  what  we  had  said 
about  Lobster,  and  though  I  tried  to  put  the  thought 
away  it  would  come  back.  I  felt  that  we  had  not 
treated  Miss  Swinton  right  in  allowing  her  to  deceive 
herself,  and  that  if  I  was  to  die  I  ought  to  say  some 
thing  about  it.  So  I  crawled  over  to  where  she  sat 
with  Jennie,  and  told  the  real  truth  in  a  low  voice  so 
that  no  one  else  might  hear,  and  was  called  a  "  con 
temptible  little  wretch ' '  for  my  pains.  Then  I  crawl 
ed  back.  I  could  hardly  move  now  and  did  not  care 
to  speak  to  Lobster.  It  was  afterwards  that  I  learned 
that  Miss  Swinton  was  unconscious  in  Jennie's  arms 
and  that  I  had  confessed  to  Jennie. 

I  think  I  went  to  sleep  or  fainted  after  this  incident. 
I  know  that  I  did  no  more  pumping,  and  have  a  dim 
recollection  of  being  pushed  about ;  but  it  seemed  to 
be  a  week  after  the  boat  tipped  over  when  I  was 
awakened  by  sliding  off  the  centreboard -box  into  the 
water,  and  all  I  cared  about  was  to  make  sure  that 
my  head  was  out.  Then  I  went  to  sleep  again,  re 
clining  against  the  centreboard-box.  After  a  long 
time — I  do  not  know  how  long — I  was  wakened  again 
by  a  crashing  noise  and  a  rush  of  water  in  my  face ; 
and  there  I  was,  up  to  my  neck  in  it,  looking  at  a 
square  of  light  formed  by  the  open  door,  and  floun 
dering  towards  us  through  the  water  was  a  man  who 


The   Lobster 

brought  with  him  the  sweetness  and  freshness  of  the 
morning  air  above. 

"  Jennie — Grace,"  he  called  in  gasps,  for  he  seemed 
to  be  choking.  "Are  you  alive?  I  can't  see — 
speak,  somebody'" 

"Here,  Jack,"  said  Jennie's  voice  behind  me. 
" Take  Grace." 

I  looked  around,  and  there  was  Jennie  supporting 
Miss  Swinton  and  barely  able  to  hold  her  own  head 
above  water.  Charlie  was  climbing  out  of  a  berth, 
and  Lobster,  still  and  quiet,  blue  in  the  face — and 
with  the  awful  look  of  a  dead  man  on  it — was  leaning 
against  the  slanting  centreboard-box  with  one  hand 
extended  to  the  handle  of  the  pump. 

It  did  not  take  us  long  to  get  to  the  door,  you  may 
be  sure ;  but,  quick  as  we  were,  Jack  was  ahead  of  us 
with  his  sister,  whom  he  carried  as  he  might  have 
carried  a  child.  He  placed  her  on  the  deck  above. 
She  was  breathing,  though  unconscious.  Down  he 
went  again  and  brought  up  Jennie,  who  had  fainted 
in  his  arms,  and  whom  he  was  kissing  as  though  she 
were  the  only  girl  on  earth.  Then,  taking  a  long 
breath,  he  went  for  Lobster,  and  when  he  brought 
him  he  brought  the  pump,  too ;  for,  though  Jack  had 
strength  to  carry  him  he  had  not  strength  to  twist 
his  fingers  from  the  pump-handle. 

He  was  not  dead,  but  might  have  been  had  the 
boat  grounded  ten  minutes  later.  It  was  the  going 
down  of  the  tide  that  righted  her,  sliding  us  off  the 
centreboard  -  box,  and  afterwards  enabling  Jack  to 

I55 


Land   Ho! 

open  the  door.  A  little  pounding  and  shaking  brought 
Lobster  to  a  breathing  condition,  and  a  little  cold 
water  dashed  in  her  face  revived  Jennie.  No  one 
talked,  or  wanted  to;  we  just  lay  sprawled  around 
that  deck  and  breathed  fresh  air,  while  Jack  looked 
first  at  one,  then  at  another,  and  smiled — such  a 
smile.  He  was  not  the  Jack  we  knew  at  all ;  his  hair 
had  turned  gray  and  he  seemed  unable  to  close  his 
lips,  which  were  twisted  and  drawn  into  an  expression 
of  pain,  while  his  eyes  were  sunken  deep  in  his  head. 
It  was  the  suspense  after  we  had  stopped  answering 
his  signals,  he  said  later,  that  had  made  him  old 
within  a  few  hours.  Horrible  as  Lobster  looked,  Jack 
looked  worse,  especially  when  he  smiled.  His  hands 
were  covered  with  blood,  and  forward  were  signs  of 
the  work  that  had  made  them  bleed.  He  had  whit 
tled  half-way  through  the  mast. 

Lobster  was  breathing  in  great,  convulsive  sobs, 
his  chest  heaving  four  inches  high,  and  Miss  Swinton 
was  not  much  better.  But  she  came  to  her  senses 
first  and  Jack  assisted  her  to  sit  up.  She  looked 
around  in  a  dazed  kind  of  way,  then,  spying  Lobster 
flat  on  his  broad  back,  she  pushed  Jack  away,  crawl 
ed  to  Lobster's  side,  and  looked  into  his  face  a  mo 
ment  as  though  she  could  devour  him  with  her  eyes. 
Then,  with  a  little  whimpering  moan,  she  fainted 
beside  him.  But  Lobster  did  not  know  it.  Jack 
lifted  her  away  from  him  and  nursed  her  back  to  con 
sciousness  ;  and  when  Lobster  came  to  himself  after 
wards  and  sat  up,  he  simply  shook  hands  with  Jack 

156 


The   Lobster 

and  kissed  Jennie  without  saying  a  word.  But  he 
paid  no  attention  to  Miss  Swinton,  nor  to  Charlie  and 
me ;  in  fact,  he  never  did  notice  Charlie  and  me  unless 
we  spoke  to  him  first.  Miss  Swinton  kept  her  big, 
dark  eyes  upon  him  until  his  manner  became  too 
apparent,  then  they  filled  with  tears,  and  she  did  not 
look  at  him  any  more.  I  was  glad  of  that,  for  it  was 
very  painful  to  witness. 

Although  we  had  not  eaten  for  nearly  twenty-four 
hours  we  were  not  in  the  least  hungry,  but  we  were 
very  weak,  and  it  was  three  hours  before  we  felt  like 
leaving  the  boat.  Then  she  was  high  and  dry,  and 
Jack  tied  a  long  rope  to  a  near-by  tree,  to  hold  her 
when  the  tide  rose  again;  and  we  all  went  ashore, 
meeting  some  natives,  who  stared  rudely  at  us  as  we 
asked  the  way  to  the  nearest  station,  and  whom  Jack 
paid  liberally  to  watch  his  yacht. 

On  the  way  Jack  and  Jennie  paired  off  ahead  and 
seemed  to  be  talking  earnestly,  and  Lobster,  who, 
of  course,  would  not  walk  with  Miss  Swinton,  and  I, 
who  did  not  care  to  just  then,  walked  together,  leav 
ing  Charlie  to  follow  on  with  Miss  Swinton.  Sudden 
ly  Jack  and  Jennie  stopped,  stared  hard  at  Charlie 
and  me  as  we  passed,  and  called  to  Lobster.  He 
joined  them,  and  they  talked  for  a  few  moments 
while  I  followed  Miss  Swinton  and  Charlie;  then 
Jack  called  his  sister  and  she  went  back,  while  Charlie 
and  I  walked  on.  I  had  to  explain  now,  for  he  was 
very  curious  to  know  what  was  going  on — and  I 
knew.  I  knew  that  Jennie  had  heard  what  I  had 


Land   Ho! 

only  meant  Miss  Swinton  to  hear,  and  that  she  was 
telling. 

Of  course,  Charlie  called  me  all  kinds  of  fools — 
it  is  a  habit  he  has — but  I  would  not  listen,  and 
turned  my  back  on  him  to  look  at  the  others.  Miss 
Swinton  was  standing  close  to  Lobster,  with  one 
hand  on  his  shoulder.  She  was  talking  excitedly, 
while  he  looked  down  into  her  face  and  the  others 
listened.  I  knew  by  the  shining  of  her  eyes  that 
she  was  crying,  and  though  I  could  not  hear  what 
she  was  saying,  I  guessed — she  was  pleading  forgive 
ness.  Her  clothing  was  wet  and  draggled  and  her 
hair  all  loose,  but  she  never  looked  so  queenly  and 
beautiful,  even  in  society,  as  she  did  then,  and  it 
affected  me  so  that  I  could  not  bear  to  look  any 
longer.  I  turned  on  Charlie  and  was  giving  him 
just  as  good  as  he  sent,  when  I  heard  a  footstep  and 
a  snarling  sound  behind  me;  then  Jack  was  upon 
us. 

His  horrible  eyes  blazed  in  his  horrible  face;  he 
was  in  a  perfect  fury  of  rage — certainly  insane — and 
before  we  could  escape  he  buried  his  bloody  hands  in 
our  hair  and — never  uttering  a  word,  remember — 
just  bumped  our  heads  together.  It  was  torture. 
He  held  us  while  we  called  for  help,  and  bumped, 
and  bumped,  and  bumped.  And  Miss  Swinton  and 
Lobster  and  Jennie  merely  looked  on,  never  offering 
to  interfere.  At  last,  just  as  I  thought  I  was  going 
to  faint — or  die — he  whirled  us  around  him,  turning 
himself;  then,  when  we  were  going  so  fast  that  our 

158 


The   Lobster 

feet  left  the  ground,  he  let  go,  and  Charlie  went  one 
way  while  I  went  the  other.  We  swooned  in  earnest 
then,  and  when  we  recovered  they  were  gone,  so  we 
went  home  without  them. 

I  knew  when  Jack  first  took  up  with  Lobster  that 
there  was  a  crazy  streak  in  him,  which  only  needed 
such  an  experience  as  ours  to  develop  into  genuine 
lunacy.  We  have  not  seen  any  of  the  four  since  then, 
as  we  have  not  gone  into  society  very  much  late 
ly  ;  but  we  have  learned  that  the  two  weddings  will 
come  off  together.  However,  there  is  one  thing  that 
Charlie  and  I  are  agreed  upon — if  we  are  invited  we 
will  just  send  our  regrets. 


On    Board    the    "Athol 


OQUAT,  swarthy,  and  malignant,  he  paced  the 
O  quarter-deck  in  the  middle  watch,  his  one  eye 
shooting  fiery  glances  at  the  opaque  blackness  to 
windward,  at  the  tangle  of  straining  cordage  and 
bulging  canvas  aloft,  at  the  group  of  men  forward, 
huddled  under  the  sheltering  weather  rail,  and  at  the 
helmsman,  braced  against  the  wheel  and  immovable. 
He  paused  in  his  walk. 

"Ease  her  when  she  pitches,"  he  bellowed.  And 
the  helmsman  answered  and  assumed  life. 

He  resumed  his  walk  and  communings,  his  mind 
going  back  to  the  fight  in  the  slaver's  hold  ten  years 
ago.  Again  he  fought  that  terrible  duel  with  sheath- 
knives.  He  thrust,  parried,  dodged,  advanced,  and 
retreated,  watching  the  steely  blue  of  his  enemy's 
eye,  feeling  again  the  exhilaration  of  boiling  blood, 
the  initial  tingling  of  the  hair  roots,  heard  again  the 
shouts,  oaths,  and  encouragements  of  his  lawless 
shipmates,  and  once  more  buried  his  knife  in  Bill- 
ings's  shoulder  and  received  the  cut  on  his  cheek  in 
return.  Again  he  scored,  and  the  knife  was  trans- 

160 


On   Board    the   "Athol" 

f erred  from  the  wounded  right  hand  to  the  left.  He 
had  him  now.  He  rushed — and  Billings  slipped  in 
his  own  blood.  On  the  prostrate  form  he  pounced— 
one  stroke  would  finish  him.  Billings  had  dropped 
his  knife  and  he  raised  his  own.  But  it  came  down 
slanting;  the  stroke  was  futile.  The  wounded  arm 
had  encircled  his  neck;  his  cheek  was  pressing  the 
warm  blood  on  his  enemy's  shirt,  and  then — he  felt 
it  now — came  the  insertion  of  the  thumb,  the  smart 
ing  pain,  and  blinding,  burning  sheet  of  fire  that 
marked  the  going  out  of  his  left  eye — forever.  And 
the  strange  weakness  which  overcame  him  and 
enabled  Billings  to  throw  him  to  his  feet,  and  follow 
and  plant  that  pile-driving  fist  blow  that  sent  him  so 
near  to  eternity.  All  over  a  sick  blackbird,  too,  that 
Billings  wanted  to  nurse.  Billings  might  have  killed 
him.  It  was  his  right.  Yet — but  he  had  gouged, 
and  no  man  who  is  a  man  will  do  that.  He  had  said 
he  would  even  up,  and  he  would.  This  ship,  in 
which  he  was  chief  mate,  would  finish  the  voyage  one 
man  short. 

It  was  in  the  zenith  period  of  American  shipping, 
in  the  days  of  short  mizzenmasts,  single  topsails, 
square  sterns  and  squarer  stern  windows;  when  the 
American  sailor  was  American -born,  his  proudest 
title,  Able  Seaman,  yet,  feeling  within  him  the 
potentiality  of  quarter-deck  duty,  quick  to  resent 
ill-treatment,  to  conspire,  and  even  mutiny.  Officers 
carried  arms  in  those  days,  crews  were  trained  to  the 
use  of  carronades,  pirates  watched  for,  and  slave  - 

161 


Land   Ho! 

trading  considered  as  a  slight  lapse  from  the  con 
ventional — a  little  out  of  date  and  style. 

Of  such  description  was  the  Atkol  and  her  crew, 
outward-bound  from  New  York  on  a  summer  voy 
age  to  Liverpool,  with  Captain  Smith  commanding, 
George  Earp,  chief  mate,  and  one  John  Billings  in 
the  forecastle. 

The  captain  appeared  and  joined  the  brooding 
first  officer. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Earp,  what  do  you  think  of  the  crew," 
he  asked.  "Strikes  me  they're  a  pretty  good  lot; 
don't  you  think  so?" 

"No,  captain,  I  can't  see  it.  They're  the  worst 
gang  of  soldiers,  farmers,  and  beach-combers  I  ever 
saw  together.  I'm  going  to  work  them  up;  they 
need  it." 

The  captain  laughed.  "There's  one  man  who 
don't,"  he  said — "  Billings,  the  big,  red-headed  fellow 
in  your  watch.  I  heard  of  him  ashore;  came  home 
mate  with  old  Johnson  in  the  Trade  Wind;  been  mate 
in  that  employ  five  years  now ;  would  have  gone  out 
in  command  this  time  only  he  had  a  bad  row  with 
old  Johnnie,  who  got  the  owners  down  on  him.  My 
brother  used  to  sail  with  him  in  the  slave-trade. 
Billings  has  an  ungovernable  temper;  you'll  have 
to  look  out  for  that.  How  the  slave-trade  counts 
against  a  man  nowadays!  Call  me  if  it  freshens." 

The  mate  was  alone  again.  His  accidental  and 
unnecessary  proposition  to  work  up  the  men,  coupled 
with  the  mention  of  Billings 's  hasty  temper,  gave 

162 


On   Board    the   "Athol" 

form  to  his  speculations.  Billings  knew  his  place 
and  work  too  well  ever  to  put  himself  in  the  way  of 
punishment,  but,  worked  up  with  the  rest,  he  would 
probably  join  them  in  rebellion.  Then,  as  one  of  a 
mutinous  crew,  he  could  be  disposed  of.  He  would 
make  sure  of  that. 

Next  day  the  working  up  began.  All  hands  were 
kept  on  deck  in  the  afternoon.  Unnecessary  repeti 
tion  of  orders,  oaths,  epithets,  and  insults  followed  the 
crew  as  they  hurried  around  the  deck  or  worked  in 
the  rigging.  Man  after  man  was  sent  from  the  wheel 
until  Billings  took  the  helm,  when  even  the  critical 
mind  of  the  mate  could  find  no  fault  with  the  steer 
ing.  No  matter  how  suddenly  he  appeared  at  the 
binnacle,  he  only  found  the  ship  on  her  course- 
exactly.  And  Billings,  though  always  respectful, 
did  not  hesitate  occasionally  to  fix  the  calm,  open, 
blue  eyes  on  the  scowling  visage  of  the  mate  in  an 
expressionless  stare — not  too  prolonged,  yet  enough 
to  crowd  the  evil  heart  into  the  throat  and  stifle  the 
words  of  abuse  he  longed  to  utter.  There  had  been 
no  further  recognition  between  the  two. 

At  the  end  of  a  week  the  exasperated  men  were 
ripe  for  mutiny  and  murder,  which  Billings's  influ 
ence  alone  prevented.  One  night  as  they  hauled  and 
panted  like  overladen  horses  on  the  fore-brace,  and 
the  mate  stood  amidships  pouring  forth  volleys  of 
invective  and  malediction,  a  marline-spike  whizzed 
past  his  ear  from  the  darkness  near  the  fore-rigging 
and  buried  itself  an  inch  deep  in  the  woodwork  of 

163 


Land   Ho! 

the  cabin.  He  fired  his  pistol  forward,  but  struck  no 
one.  It  was  not  Billings  who  had  thrown  it,  as  he  had 
hoped  on  the  moment.  Billings  was  perched  on  the 
rail  looking  forward.  But  Billings  was  the  one  man 
there  who  had  seen  the  missile  thrown,  and  in  the 
forecastle  discussion  which  followed  took  a  position 
against  such  methods,  losing,  thereby,  his  ascenden 
cy  over  his  mates,  and  only  regaining  it  by  knock 
ing  down  the  marline-spike  thrower  and  two  other 
opponents. 

"If  the  time  comes,"  he  said,  "when  we  will  be 
justified  in  the  courts,  you'll  find  me  ready  to  put  the 
after-guard  in  irons  and  take  the  ship  home.  Mean 
while  I've  no  desire  to  hang  or  go  to  prison." 

But  Billings  himself  was  not  infallible. 

Sitting  astride  the  extreme  end  of  the  maintop- 
sail-yard,  passing  and  heaving  out  the  weather  reef- 
earing  while  his  fellows  on  the  foot-rope  lifted  the 
sail  out  to  him,  he  listened  one  night  to  the  copious 
flow  of  impersonal  abuse  which  the  strident  voice  of 
the  mate  carried  up  to  them.  And  when  his  name 
was  called,  coupled  with  a  foul  epithet,  the  heaver  in 
his  hand  swung  above  his  head,  whirled  downward, 
struck  the  deck  at  the  mate's  feet  and  bounded  high 
in  air  over  the  lee  rail.  Then  the  vicious  bark  of  a 
pistol  was  heard  and  a  dim  gray  cloud  of  smoke 
followed  the  heaver  to  leeward. 

Billings  rolled  backward,  and  with  limbs  extended, 
straight  and  stiff,  turned  slowly  over  as  he  fell,  and 
disappeared  in  the  water,  feet  first,  close  to  the  side 

164 


On   Board   the   "Athol" 

of  the  ship — close  enough  to  be  saved  by  a  rope  had 
he  appeared  and  one  been  thrown. 

Putting  his  smoking  pistol  in  his  pocket,  Mr.  Earp 
cut  short  the  chuckle  in  his  throat  to  roar  out, 
"Reef  that  sail;  finish  that  job,  you  lubbers."  As 
they  were  anything  but  lubbers  they  finished  it. 

Of  what  need  to  describe  the  mutiny  which  follow 
ed.  A  captain,  two  mates,  and  a  steward,  armed 
with  shot-guns  and  helped  by  a  carpenter  with  a 
formidable  broad-axe,  can,  as  a  rule,  quell  any 
mutinous  uprising  of  unarmed  sailors  that  may 
occur.  This  is  what  happened,  and,  with  three 
wounded  men  in  the  forecastle,  discipline  was  re 
stored.  But  a  stormy  discussion  took  place  in  the 
cabin  between  Captain  Smith  and  the  first  officer, 
fragments  of  which  reached  the  ears  of  the  man  at 
the  wheel,  and  the  working  up  ceased. 

About  ten  o'clock  on  a  calm,  sultry  evening,  about 
a  week  after,  the  first  officer  and  the  steward  de 
scended  into  the  half -deck  with  a  lantern,  to  discover 
the  whereabouts  of  certain  cabin  stores  which  the 
former  had  stowed  in  port. 

"  I  put  them  here,"  said  the  mate,  "close  up  to  the 
cabin  trunk;  you  must  have  broken  them  out." 

"  No.  You  know  I've  given  you  pilot-bread  so  far 
at  the  table;  and  it's  only  to-day  that  the  captain 
asked  for  soda-biscuits ;  I  haven't  seen  them,  though 
I  knew  we  had  them." 

"Let's  look  along  the  wing — forward." 

The  mate  went  ahead  with  the  lantern.  At  the 
*** 


Land  Ho! 

extreme  forward  corner  of  the  half -deck  his  under 
jaw  dropped,  his  hair  stiffened,  and  the  lantern  fell 
from  his  nerveless  fingers  and  went  out.  For,  as  the 
circle  of  light  illumined  the  bulkhead,  a  tall,  gray 
figure  had  arisen  to  full  height,  the  pale  face  sur 
mounted  by  a  shaggy  crop  of  red  hair,  the  forehead 
crossed  by  a  long,  red  mark — the  figure  and  face  of 
the  murdered  Billings. 

With  a  squawk  of  terror  the  steward  fled,  and  the 
mate  followed.  Up  the  ladder  they  bounded,  the 
steward  turning  aft,  the  mate  forward.  The  latter 
looked  back ;  the  pale,  scarred  face  was  just  appear 
ing  above  the  hatch.  Possessed  by  blind,  unreason 
ing  fear,  he  bounded  down  to  the  main-deck  and 
looked  again.  The  tall  figure  was  coming — giant-like 
in  the  darkness — noiseless  and  gray.  With  a  gasp 
ing  gurgle,  that  only  by  effort  he  raised  to  a  scream, 
he  ran  on.  The  crew  saw,  and  scattered  to  the  other 
side  of  the  deck.  Forward,  around  the  fore  hatch, 
went  the  mate  and  the  silent  gray  pursuer.  Aft  on 
the  other  side,  dispersing  the  crew  again;  up  the 
steps  to  the  poop,  around  the  cabin,  the  mate 
uttering  hoarse,  jerky  screams  and  the  terrible  thing 
keeping  up  the  steady,  noiseless  pursuit,  just  a 
fathom  behind.  The  captain,  aroused  by  the 
steward,  appeared,  only  to  shrink  back  out  of  the 
way  as  the  pair  passed  the  cabin  door.  Forward 
they  went  again.  The  mate,  evidently  growing 
weaker,  stumbled,  fell,  arose,  and  went  on,  the  figure 
pausing,  only  to  resume  the  pursuit. 

166 


On   Board   the   "Athol" 

Forward — aft — forward  again — the  mate  falling  at 
intervals,  the  gray  Nemesis  always  waiting— always 
maintaining  an  even  six  feet  behind,  the  frightful  race 
went  on,  until  the  terrorized  first  officer  mounted 
the  taffrail,  and  with  a  last,  agonizing  shriek  sprang 
overboard,  the  shriek  ringing  in  the  ears  of  the  others 
until  the  water  cut  it  short.  The  gray  apparition  fol 
lowed.  Neither  was  seen  again. 

There  was  a  dearth  of  soda-biscuits  on  the  cabin 
table  until  the  ship  was  docked  at  Liverpool.  Not  a 
man  aboard  would  enter  the  half-deck. 

As  Captain  Smith  came  down  the  edge  of  the  quay 
late  one  night,  he  saw  one  of  the  AthoVs  stern  win 
dows  open.  This  was  strange ;  it  should  be  shut.  A 
white  face  appeared  in  it,  then  a  gray  form  which 
slowly,  and  with  great  effort,  climbed  down  the 
rudder  pendants,  hooked  up  to  the  transom,  and 
slipped  into  the  water. 

"That's  our  ghost,"  muttered  the  captain;  "but 
ghosts  don't  need  to  climb  or  swim.  It's  Billings." 

"That  you,  Billings?  Come  in;  I'll  help  you 
out." 

"Help!  I'm  drowning,"  gurgled  the  swimmer. 
Captain  Smith  hurriedly  removed  the  gangway  lad 
der  and,  dropping  it  over,  assisted  the  exhausted  man 
to  safety.  It  was  Billings  in  gray  underclothes  and 
stockings. 

"  Now,  Billings,"  said  he  to  the  prostrate  man, "by 
all  reason  and  logic,  you  should  be  half-way  to  the 
bottom,  a  thousand  miles  out,  with  a  bullet  through 

167 


Land   Ho! 

your  head.  How  is  it  that  you  are  climbing  out  of 
my  stern  windows  to-night?" 

"  Because  I  went  in  them,  captain.  The  mate's 
bullet  glanced,  but  it  knocked  me  off  the  yard  and  I 
went  under  the  bottom.  When  I  came  up  I  was 
under  the  quarter  and  hung  on  to  the  rudder.  Then 
I  climbed  the  rudder  pendants,  found  a  window  loose 
enough  to  open,  and  got  in.  I  was  stronger  then; 
biscuits  and  tank  water  weaken  a  man.  I've  been  in 
the  half -deck  since." 

11  Except  when  you  played  ghost.  So  that's  where 
our  biscuits  went!" 

"I  didn't  mean  to  drown  the  mate,  captain.  I 
thought  the  jig  was  up  when  he  found  me,  and  I 
wanted  one  good  knock  down  before  I  went  in  irons ; 
then  I  saw  how  scared  he  was  and  kept  it  up,  but  I 
never  saw  him  after  he  struck  the  water  or  I  would 
have  helped  him.  I  knew  he  couldn't  swim;  we've 
been  shipmates  before.  Then  I  caught  the  rudder 
again  and  climbed  in." 

"  Billings,  my  brother  is  in  port,  and  I've  just  left 
him.  He  told  me  about  the  trouble  you  had  with 
Earp  some  time  ago.  Come  aboard  and  get  some 
thing  to  eat." 

John  Billings  went  home  chief  mate  of  the  Athol. 


The    Magnetized    Man 


A 5  a  practitioner  and  dilettante  student  of  hypno 
tism,  I  had  always  thought  that  the  so-called 
power  lay  in  the  weakness  or  suggestibility  of  the 
subject  rather  than  in  any  magnetic  emanations 
from  the  physical  being  of  the  operator.  Since  my 
experience  with  Dart,  however,  even  though  I  have 
read  up  and  heard  all  that  is  expounded  on  the  mat 
ter,  I  have  been  compelled  to  change  my  mind,  or  at 
least  to  admit  my  ignorance.  It  is  proven  that  the 
muscles  of  the  body  give  out  the  newly  discovered 
N  -  rays ;  and  the  positive,  projective,  oppressing 
power  of  some  personalities  may  be  contained  in 
these  rays  or  they  may  not ;  I  do  not  know.  Neither 
does  Dart,  nor  Braisted,  nor  Fanton,  nor  any  one  con 
cerned  in  the  case — least  of  all  did  the  man  whose 
possession  of  this  strange  power,  and  irresponsible 
use  of  it,  brought  about  my  change  of  heart. 

He  was  a  small,  insignificant-looking  fellow,  and, 
excepting  for  a  trick  of  carrying  his  eyes  wide  open 
— which  created  a  preponderance  of  white  in  the 

169 


Land   Ho! 

general  effect — he  had  not  an  ounce  of  individuality 
about  him.  A  shifty,  cowardly,  ignorant,  and  under 
bred  man  he  seemed,  and  he  occupied  the  berth  of 
second  cook  on  Braisted's  big  steam-yacht. 

Braisted  was  like  his  yacht,  big  and  well-appoint 
ed,  which  is  description  enough  of  him.  Fanton  de 
serves  more,  and  Dart  still  more.  Fanton  was  an  in 
valid  under  my  care.  Though  decidedly  stout,  he 
was  a  sufferer  from  dyspepsia.  Dart  was  his  an 
tithesis,  slender  and  handsome,  with  the  mind  of  a 
poet  and  the  bearing  of  an  army  officer,  with  a 
luminous,  dark  eye  that  looked  you  through  and 
through  and  a  smile  that  went  straight  to  your 
heart.  Like  Braisted,  he  was  wealthy,  a  lawyer, 
and  a  yacht-owner ;  but,  with  Fanton  and  myself,  he 
was  a  guest  on  board  Braisted's  Nautilus  during  the 
club's  last  official  cruise  down  the  Sound. 

We  were  lying  anchored  overnight  at  New  London. 
The  quiet  old  river  was  alive  with  launches  and  gigs, 
passing  between  the  yachts  and  the  shore,  and  the 
evening  display  of  search-lights  had  not  begun.  We 
sat,  all  but  Fanton,  who  was  in  his  room  below,  in 
big  deck-chairs  on  the  fantail  and  discussed  hypno 
tism.  Braisted  talked  with  utter  ignorance  of  the 
subject  but  intense  interest  in  it;  Dart  with  the 
smiling  superiority  of  manner  peculiar  to  the  fellow 
who  cannot  be  hypnotized — you  know  him — and  I 
with  the  cautious  yet  cocksure  non-assertiveness  of 
medical  men — you  know  us — when  not  quite  sure  of 
themselves. 

170 


The   Magnetized   Man 

Dart  said  he  would  like  to  meet  the  man  who  could 
put  him  to  sleep  against  his  will,  and  as  he  said  so,  I 
mentally  approved  of  his  stand.  With  his  flashing 
eye,  his  vibrant  intonation,  his  whole  godlike  per 
sonality,  he  seemed  the  pure  embodiment  of  soul, 
will,  intellectual  force.  But  the  listening  steward,  a 
favored  factotum  of  Braisted 's,  volunteered  the  in 
formation  that  the  second  cook  could  mesmerize  the 
men  forward,  and  the  eager  Braisted  demanded  a 
trial. 

"Can  you  hypnotize  people?"  he  asked,  when  De 
Cler,  looking  uncomfortable  in  a  hurriedly  donned 
white  jacket,  had  shuffled  aft  from  the  galley.  "  Put 
them  to  sleep,  I  mean?" 

"Oui,  monsieur,  eet  is  vary  simple,  "answered  De 
Cler  —  a  Frenchman,  evidently  —  in  a  half-defiant, 
half -embarrassed  manner. 

" Try  to  put  this  gentleman  to  sleep." 

Braisted  jerked  his  thumb  towards  Dart.  The 
fellow  approached  him — and  it  was  here  that  the 
first  thought  of  radiant  energy  entered  my  head,  for 
even  as  he  approached  the  smile  left  the  face  of 
Dart.  Then,  as  De  Cler  stood  over  him  and  brought 
his  own  raised  hands  down  with  a  sweeping  motion, 
Dart's  eyelids  closed  and  his  head  sank  back.  He 
was  asleep! 

I  shivered  at  the  uncanny  exhibition,  but  Braisted 
was  jubilant. 

"Make  him  do  stunts,"  he  ordered.  "Make  him 
dance!" 

171 


Land   Ho! 

Braisted  seemed  to  be  hypnotized  himself.  Against 
my  earnest  protest,  he  encouraged  that  dull,  thick- 
witted  potato -peeler  to  play  football  with  one  of 
the  keenest  intellects  of  the  New  York  bar.  He  had 
Dart  down  on  his  knees,  believing  himself  a  scrub 
woman  scrubbing  a  floor.  He  made  him  ride  a  vi 
cious  horse  in  the  shape  of  a  capstan-bar,  prancing 
about  the  deck  in  imitation  of  a  bronco's  bucking. 
He  put  him  into  a  boat,  gave  him  imaginary  oars, 
and  made  him  row  with  empty  hands,  fast  and 
furiously.  Then  he  got  him  to  his  feet  and  paused  a 
moment,  thinking,  I  suppose,  of  the  next  outrage, 
when  fat  Fanton  appeared,  wheezing  and  grunting, 
at  the  head  of  the  companion-stairs. 

"  See  zat  man — you  see  him  ?"  said  the  Frenchman, 
boldly.  "  He  is  ze  offisaire — you  see  ? — ze  policeman. 
Eet  is  prepare  wiz  a  policeman  pull  ze  nose — you  see  ? 
You  pull  ze  nose,  and  zen  you — ah — you  keel  him — 
you  give  him  ze  lead!" 

Dart's  eyes  were  wide  open  now,  and  except  for 
their  slight  fixity  of  expression  he  looked  wide-awake. 
He  stepped  quickly  up  to  the  unsuspecting  invalid, 
seized  him  by  the  nose,  and  tweaked  it  viciously. 
Fanton,  gritting  his  teeth  in  pain,  struck  out  wildly 
with  open  hand  and  knocked  Dart  off  his  feet.  He 
was  not  hurt — I  knew  that — but  he  lay  twitching  all 
over  for  a  moment,  and  then  arose,  still  full  of 
tremors,  utterly  bewildered,  but  awake. 

Braisted  came  to  his  senses  and  ordered  the 
scoundrel  forward.  He  went,  slouching  and  grinning, 

172 


The   Magnetized   Man 

while  Fan  ton,  as  embarrassed  and  remorseful  as  a 
dyspeptic  may  be,  apologized  profusely  to  Dart,  who 
only  shuddered  and  turned  away.  Braisted  and 
myself  assisted  the  victim  to  a  chair.  Later,  he  took 
to  his  berth,  and  on  the  run  down  to  Newport  I  had 
on  hand  the  worst  case  of  nervous  shock  that  ever 
came  into  my  practice.  He  knew  nothing  of  what 
had  occurred  from  the  time  the  Frenchman  had  ap 
proached  him  until  he  found  himself  on  the  deck, 
wincing  under  the  open-handed  blow  that  had  floored 
him.  And  in  spite  of  Fan  ton's  genuine  sorrow  and 
remorse,  he  would  not,  could  not,  forgive  him.  He 
left  for  New  York  by  train  at  Newport,  and  here  the 
Frenchman  was  discharged.  I  do  not  think  they 
met  again. 

I  received  significant  reports  on  De  Cler  when  I  in 
vestigated  his  standing  on  board.  One  was  from 
Braisted,  who  admitted  that  he  felt  slightly  dizzy 
when  he  talked  with  him.  Another  came  from 
Fanton,  who  said  that,  having  risen  early  that  day,  he 
had  gone  to  the  galley  for  his  morning  drink  of  hot 
water,  and  had  received  impudence  from  the  second 
cook.  Another  was  from  the  first  mate,  who  a  few 
days  before  had  gone  for  the  cook,  as  he  expressed 
himself,  "  hell  bent  for  election,"  to  rebuke  him  more 
or  less  forcibly  for  spilling  grease  on  the  deck,  and 
had  found  himself  mildly  informing  the  offender 
that  it  was  not  his  fault.  Still  another,  from  the 
crew,  was  that  the  cook  could  not  master  every  one 
forward ;  some  were  immune. 


Land   Ho! 

What  was  the  nature  of  his  power  ?  That  was  the 
question  that  troubled  me.  It  was  not  the  subjec- 
tiveness  of  his  victim,  for  Dart  was  strong,  master 
ful,  resistant,  and  able  himself  to  hypnotize  any 
ordinary  judge  and  jury.  It  was,  perhaps,  some  kind 
of  material  emanation,  or  a  radiant  energy,  and  like 
all  such  it  decreased  in  force  as  the  square  of  the 
distance.  It  had  dazed  Braisted  at  ten  feet,  stu 
pefied  Dart  at  three,  and  changed  the  mood  of  a 
big  and  angry  first  mate  while  he  ran  down  its 
lines  of  force.  Yet  I  had  looked  the  fellow  square 
ly  in  the  eyes  without  feeling  it. 


II 

Fanton's  dyspepsia  improved  somewhat  on  that 
sea -trip,  but  a  month  of  New  York  cookery  threw 
him  back,  and  I  had  a  daily  complaint  from  him. 
In  one  of  these  talks  he  showed  me  a  newspaper  ac 
count  of  two  similar  offences  against  law  and  order, 
perpetrated  in  different  parts  of  the  city,  by  two 
persons  of  different  social  position — one  by  a  drunken 
Frenchman  named  Francois  de  Cler  in  front  of  a 
sailors'  boarding-house  on  Cherry  Street;  the  other 
by  a  tall,  well-dressed  gentleman  on  Fifth  Avenue. 
Each  had  pulled  the  nose  of  a  policeman ;  but  while 
the  Frenchman  had  been  clubbed  into  respect  for 
convention  and  then  jailed,  the  other  had  escaped 
arrest  by  profuse  apologies  to  the  officer  and  by 

i74 


The   Magnetized   Man 

hurrying  into  a  passing  cab.  His  name  was  not 
known. 

"Dart!"  we  both  exclaimed  together. 

"And  I've  remembered  since,"  said  Fanton,  a 
little  peevishly,  "that  part  of  the  cook's  insolence 
that  morning  consisted  in  twisting  his  fingers  in  my 
face  and  calling  me  a  '  polisman  goddam.' ' 

"Heavens  alive,  man!"  I  exclaimed,  "the  sugges 
tion  to  pull  noses  was  not  removed  when  you  waken 
ed  him.  Is  this  post-hypnotic  suggestion  ?  Is  Dart 
still  under  a  drunken  lunatic's  influence?" 

"Don't  know  and  don't  care,"  grumbled  my  dys 
peptic.  "  I've  my  own  troubles." 

"What  did  you  say  to  anger  the  cook?"  I  asked, 
ignoring  his  plaint. 

"Ordered  him  to  give  me  some  hot  water." 

"You  should  have  asked.  A  cook  is  king  in  the 
galley." 

I  left  him  with  his  troubles  and  hunted  for  Dart ; 
but  he  was  not  at  his  office,  his  home,  nor  any  of 
his  clubs.  Then  I  investigated  the  Frenchman,  and 
found  that  he  had  been  sent  to  Blackwell's  Island 
for  a  month. 

"He's  down  on  de  p'lice,"  said  the  bartender  of 
the  sailors'  boarding-house.  "  He  wuz  gittin'  his 
head  clubbed  off  wanst,  an'  he  won  out  by  hangin' 
on  to  one  copper's  nose  an'  shuttin'  off  his  wind. 
It's  his  bug,  see?" 

With  De  Cler  safe  for  a  month,  and  Dart  out  of 
reach,  I  had  time  to  devote  a  little  thought  to 


Land   Ho! 

Fanton's  case.  I  came  to  the  unprofessional  but 
common  -  sense  conclusion  that  a  dyspeptic  who 
would  not  diet  was  better  off  without  treatment. 
So,  with  regard  to  his  improvement  on  the  club 
cruise,  I  ordered  a  long  sea  voyage  and  washed  my 
hands  of  him. 

Then,  in  his  place,  I  had  Dart  for  a  patient.  He 
entered  my  office  one  day  in  a  state  of  evident  mental 
collapse. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  me?"  he  asked,  in  a 
choked  voice.  "I  did  it  again — the  third  time!  I 
do  not  feel  it  coming  on;  I  seem  to  be  my  natural 
self ;  then  I  awake  in  the  act.  I  am  prevented  from 
accomplishing  it,  of  course,  and  this  brings  me  back. 
But  why,  why  do  I  want  to  pull  a  policeman's 
nose?" 

"  Because  that  was  suggested  to  you  when  hypno 
tized  by  the  French  cook,  and  it  was  not  removed 
before  Fanton  wakened  you,"  I  said,  confidently. 
"  Your  case  is  simple,  Dart.  You  want  another 
operation  and  a  counter-suggestion." 

"  Can  you  hypnotize  me  and  give  the  suggestion  ?" 

"No,  it's  out  of  my  line.  I'll  send  you  to  the 
specialists." 

I  gave  him  a  list  of  six  physicians  who  used 
hypnotic  suggestion  in  their  practice,  and  he  left 
with  it.  Then  I  wrote  to  all,  asking  results.  As  the 
days  wore  on  they  responded,  one  after  another.  He 
could  not  be  hypnotized  without  the  aid  of  drugs, 
and  then  refused  the  suggestion.  This  was  not 


The    Magnetized    Man 

hypnosis — it  was  plain  drugging.     Dart  came  back 
to  me  with  the  same  report. 

"There  is  one  man  who  can  do  it,"  I  said,  "but 
he's  in  jail — the  cook." 

"  No !"  he  almost  shrieked.  "  No !  That  wretch  ? 
Not  to  save  my  soul.  I'll  win  yet.  I'll  conquer 
myself!" 

"  I  hope  you  can,"  I  remarked. 

"  I'll  tell  you,  doctor,"  he  said,  a  little  more  calmly. 
"I  feel  confident  that  it  is  within  the  scope  of  my 
own  will.  I've  passed  dozens  of  policemen  lately — 
even  gone  out  of  my  way  to  pass  them — and  have 
not  felt  the  impulse.  And  I've  even  warmed  towards 
Fanton.  We're  friends  now.  I  know  I'm  tired  out 
— utterly  worn  out  with  work  and  worry.  I'll  take 
a  vacation — order  the  yacht  ready  for  a  Mediter 
ranean  cruise — yes,  and  on  through  the  canal,  across 
to  Australia.  And  why  not  around  the  world,  with 
a  party  of  congenial  friends?  I've  the  time  and  the 
money." 

"  Go  ahead,"  I  responded.  "  Fresh  air  and  change, 
with  your  own  will-power,  may  pull  you  out  of  this." 

A  week  later  Fanton  informed  me  on  the  street 
that  he  had  employed  his  own  private  physician — a 
young  chap  just  out  of  his  hospital  service,  I  after 
wards  learned — and  that  he  would  take  him  abroad 
with  him.  I  sent  my  bill  and  thought  no  more  of 
Fanton  until  I  read  their  names  as  the  only  guests  on 
Dart's  steam-yacht,  which  that  day  had  sailed  for 
Gibraltar. 

177 


Land    Ho ! 

Then  a  gabbling  mutual  friend  at  the  club,  who 
had  seen  them  off,  retailed  the  news  that  Dart,  just 
before  stepping  into  his  gig  after  Fanton,  had  tweak 
ed  the  nose  of  the  dock  policeman,  and,  as  the  gig 
pulled  away,  had  jokingly  performed  the  same  feat 
on  the  nose  of  Fanton.  I  sat  up  all  that  night  study 
ing  psychology  and  the  phases  and  vagaries  of  the 
subconscious  mind.  One  of  the  things  that  appealed 
to  me  so  strongly  that  I  read  it  again  and  again  was, 
that  a  suggestion  given  to  a  hynotized  person  is  never 
completely  ignored;  but  that  if  two  are  given  to 
gether,  the  subconscious  mind  will  perform  the  easier 
task  first  and  take  up  the  more  difficult  one  later. 
This  naturally  brought  me  to  a  close  consideration 
of  the  suggestion  delivered  to  Dart,  and  little  by  lit 
tle  it  came  clearly  to  my  mind,  word  for  word,  as  the 
cook  had  spoken: 

41  You  pull  him  nose,  and  then  you — ah — you  keel 
him — you  give  him  the  lead!" 

Here  was  a  second  suggestion  with  a  vengeance! 
Dart  had  performed  the  first  successfully,  and  might 
repeat  it  as  long  as  Fanton  would  submit.  But  the 
second  ?  He  had  warmed  towards  Fanton,  whom  he 
disliked  intuitively,  and  had  taken  him — a  man  whose 
soul  yearned  for  medicine — and  a  young  fool  doctor 
on  a  voyage  around  the  world.  Much  might  happen 
on  that  voyage. 

But  another  point  upon  which  all  the  authorities 
were  agreed  was  that  no  suggestion  to  commit  crime 
would  avail  against  the  ever-acting  auto-suggestion 

i78 


The   Magnetized   Man 

of  the  subject — that  an  honorable  man  or  woman 
could  not  be  hypnotized  into  doing  a  dishonorable 
act.  And  this  gave  me  comfort  until  I  had  reflected 
upon  the  peculiar  nature  of  Dart's  hypnosis,  which 
was  not  of  the  kind  upon  which  this  presumption 
was  based,  but  an  obsession  driven  into  his  soul 
against  his  will.  If  the  auto-suggestion  of  Dart's 
whole  dignified  life  could  not  save  him  from  the 
absurd  and  ridiculous,  could  it  save  him  from  crime  ? 
The  thought  was  too  disquieting. 

Before  breakfast  I  called  up  Braisted  on  the 
telephone  and  explained.  He  was  too  busy  to  act 
he  said ;  but  he  placed  his  big,  fast  steam-yacht  at 
my  disposal,  and  by  night  she  was  off  Twenty-Sixth 
Street,  coaled  and  provisioned,  waiting  for  me.  But 
I  wanted  more — the  Frenchman — and  this  involved 
a  few  days'  delay,  until  his  time  expired.  I  inter 
viewed  my  friend  the  bartender,  and  made  the  ac 
quaintance  of  the  three  "runners"  of  the  sailors' 
boarding-house.  They  were  three  as  cheerful  and 
unsavory  scoundrels  as  I  had  ever  looked  upon,  but 
they  served  me  faithfully;  for  hardly  had  De  Cler 
imbibed  his  second  glass  of  stimulant  on  the  evening 
of  his  release  than  the  drug  he  had  taken  with  the 
first  glass  took  effect,  and  he  fell  into  the  hands  of 
my  runners — later  into  mine.  They  delivered  him 
at  the  starboard  gangway  shortly  before  midnight, 
and  one  of  them  also  delivered  himself  of  this  gem 
of  the  language : 

"  Dat  frozen  eye  o'  his  ain't  no  good,  boss,  if  he's 
13  i79 


Land   Ho! 

scared.  A  tap  on  de  snoot  puts  it  out  o'  c'mission, 
see?" 

I  saw.  One  of  the  fundamentals  of  all  suggestion 
is  a  confident  bearing.  But  the  big  first  mate,  as  he 
bundled  the  inanimate  form  into  the  chart-room,  re 
marked,  significantly: 

"I'll  remember!" 

Ill 

By  morning  we  were  out  of  sight  of  land,  heading 
the  Great  Circle  course  for  Gibraltar.  According  to 
the  captain  and  mate,  both  of  whom  were  in  my 
confidence,  the  Nautilus  was  larger  than  Dart's 
Javelin,  and  better  by  fifty  horse -power,  twenty 
revolutions,  and  three  knots'  speed ;  so  we  hoped  to 
overtake  her. 

I  interviewed  De  Cler  as  soon  as  the  drug  was  out 
of  his  brain.  I  found  him  sullen  and  uncommunica 
tive  until  I  had  driven  it  into  his  understanding  that 
if  he  did  not  answer  my  questions,  and  agree  to  do  as 
I  wished,  I  would  have  him  dropped  over  the  side  in 
the  night.  He  then  opened  his  heart  to  me.  He 
knew  nothing  of  the  nature  of  his  strange  power,  nor 
of  its  effects  when  abused.  Some  men  he  could  not 
influence  in  the  least.  Mr.  Fanton  and  myself  were 
in  this  class.  He  hated  policemen  because  they  in 
variably  ill-treated  him.  He  had  hated  Mr.  Fanton 
for  abusing  him  at  the  galley  door  (Fanton,  it  seemed, 
had  not  told  all).  He  was  willing,  if  he  could,  to 

180 


The   Magnetized   Man 

undo  the  harm  done  to  Mr.  Dart,  provided  he  was 
not  to  be  further  punished.  And  to  this  I  agreed, 
and  supplemented  the  concession  with  the  prom 
ise  of  a  hundred  dollars  in  cash  if  he  succeeded. 
Then  I  released  him,  gave  him  the  run  of  the  after- 
part  of  the  deck,  but  forbade  him  to  speak  to 
any  of  the  crew  or  attempt  to  use  his  power  on 
board. 

I  came  to  the  conclusion,  during  this  talk,  that 
De  Cler  was  of  unsound  mind;  but  a  later  inter 
view  with  the  mate  convinced  me  that  this  could 
have  no  real  bearing  on  the  final  result  to  be  at 
tained. 

The  mate  was  a  practical  man,  not  a  theorist.  In 
spite  of  my  admonition  to  De  Cler,  he  had  again, 
perhaps  unconsciously,  turned  his  magnetic  optics  on 
the  officer,  to  the  latter 's  great  discomfort.  At  their 
next  contact  the  practical  mate  approached  from 
behind,  collared  him,  shook  him  about  at  the  end  of 
his  long,  powerful  arm  —  literally  wiped  the  deck 
with  him — and  then  dared  him  to  repeat  the  in 
solence. 

The  experiment  succeeded.  The  Frenchman's 
power  over  the  mate  was  gone. 

"  The  runner  was  right,  sir,"  said  the  mate.  "  It's 
only  bluff,  after  all.  Frighten  him,  and  he's  no 
good." 

There  is  no  need  of  detailing  the  events  of  that 
three  months'  chase  of  the  Javelin  from  port  to  port. 
She  proved  faster  than  our  captain  and  mate  sup- 

181 


Land   Ho! 

posed.  She  was  gone  when  we  reached  Gibraltar, 
but  had  left  behind  a  young  man,  whom  I  met  on  the 
quay.  He  informed  me  that  he  had  been  private 
physician  to  Mr.  Fanton,  a  guest  of  the  Javelin,  but 
had  been  discharged — on  the  instigation,  he  suspect 
ed,  of  the  owner,  who  was  undoubtedly  crazy,  but 
who  still  possessed  a  powerful  hypnotic  influence 
over  Mr.  Fanton. 

This  was  interesting,  and  I  questioned  the  young 
ster.  Yes,  Mr.  Dart,  crazy  as  he  was,  needed  but  to 
look  into  the  eyes  of  Mr.  Fanton,  and  the  latter 
would  go  instantly  to  sleep.  When  roused,  he  would 
implicitly  obey  Mr.  Dart,  even  to  discarding  the 
treatment  that  the  young  doctor  had  prescribed  for 
his  gastritis,  and  taking  medicine  provided  by  the 
owner.  Yes,  Mr.  Fanton's  dyspepsia  had  become 
acute  gastritis.  He  was  glad  to  be  clear  of  the 
case. 

The  orders  given — the  suggestions — the  implicit 
obedience?  Why,  he  did  not  know;  it  was  some 
kind  of  hypnotic  power,  no  doubt,  because  he  him 
self  would  get  dizzy  when  Mr.  Dart  looked  at  him. 
He  did  not  like  it,  and  took  no  interest  in  such  things. 
Mr.  Dart  was  always  saying  to  Mr.  Fanton,  "Give 
him  the  lead!"  Pure  lunacy,  this. 

I  pondered  long  and  heavily  on  what  the  youngster 
had  said  while  we  stormed  down  the  Mediterranean 
under  forced  draught.  Had  De  Cler  imparted  some 
of  his  peculiar  power  to  Dart,  as  a  strong  magnet  will 
magnetize  a  blank  piece  of  steel  ?  Was  the  contagion 

182 


The   Magnetized   Man 

of  insanity  brought  about  in  this  manner?  Was 
Dart  getting  De  Cler's  lunacy  by  telepathy  ?  Was 
he  insane  ? 

IV 

This  last  question  was  answered  by  Dart  himself 
when  we  boarded  the  Javelin  in  the  Strait  of  Sunda, 
after  a  wild  chase  through  the  Suez  Canal  and  across 
the  Indian  Ocean.  We  found  her  lying  off  Anjer 
Point,  dropped  anchor  close  by,  and  boarded  her — 
the  mate,  the  Frenchman,  and  myself  —  in  the 

gig- 

"I'm  mighty  glad  you've  come,  doctor,"  said  the 
skipper,  in  a  low  voice,  as  he  welcomed  us  at  the 
gangway.  "Things  have  gone  all  wrong  aboard 
here,  but  I  can't  do  anything." 

A  ghastly,  emaciated  wreck  of  a  man  sat  aft  in  a 
deck-chair  and  stupidly  regarded  us.  I  could  hardly 
recognize  the  features  of  Fanton.  Dart  stood  beside 
him,  almost  as  changed  as  was  Fanton — thinner,  with 
a  strange  look  of  curiosity  and  suspicion  on  his  face, 
and  the  ordinary  wrinkles  of  his  forehead  deepened 
and  accentuated  by  the  habitual  lifting  of  his  eye 
brows.  Too  much  white  showed  in  his  eyes;  they 
looked  like  De  Cler's. 

This  worthy — clean,  fat,  and  tractable,  in  better 
mental  and  physical  health,  thanks  to  my  care  of 
him,  than  ever  he  had  been  in  his  life — stood  behind 
me,  and  behind  him  stood  the  mate,  ready,  I  knew, 

183 


Land   Ho! 

at  a  moment's  notice  to  assert  the  domination  of 
matter  over  mind,  should  he  find  it  necessary. 

Leaving  them,  I  advanced  towards  Dart  and 
Fanton.  The  expressionless  stare  of  Fanton  under 
went  no  change,  but  Dart's  eyes  suddenly  blazed 
with  insane  recognition,  and  he  seized  my  extended 
hand. 

''Didn't  expect  you  so  soon,"  he  chattered,  "but 
you're  welcome,  old  man — yes,  you  are!  What  did 
you  come  for,  anyhow?  I  didn't  need  you.  I've 
cured  myself.  I  don't  pull  noses  now — no  sir,  no 
more  of  that!  Cured  myself!  Pure  will-power! 
Some  of  the  hair  of  the  dog !  And  I 'm  curing  Fanton. 
Oh,  he  was  a  sick  man,  doctor!  I  can  put  him  to 
sleep  any  time  I  like,  and  then  his  gastritis  doesn't 
bother  him — he  has  a  chance  to  get  well,  you  see,  and 
then — I've  told  him — told  him — you  know — he's 
going  to  give  him  the  lead!" 

I  reached  over  my  shoulder  and  beckoned  to  the 
Frenchman.  As  he  approached,  Dart's  wild  eyes 
rested  upon  him  and  grew  smaller,  while  a  look  of 
abject  terror  came  over  his  wasted  features.  He 
made  no  sound — only  stood,  drooping  and  cowering 
before  the  strange  power  inherent  in  the  cook's 
personality.  It  was  an  uncanny  exhibition  —  too 
much  for  the  practical  first  mate. 

"None  o'  that!"  he  said,  sharply,  digging  De  Cler 
in  the  ribs. 

It  was  a  momentary  respite  for  Dart.  He  backed 
away,  pulled  a  pistol  from  his  pocket,  and,  running  to 

184 


The   Magnetized   Man 

Fanton,  placed  it  in  one  of  the  hands  resting  nerve 
lessly  on  his  knee.  The  fingers  hardly  clutched  it, 
and  Fanton  gave  no  sign  of  understanding.  He 
was  deep  in  hypnotic  sleep. 

"  Give  him  the  lead — the  lead,  Fanton!"  whispered 
Dart. 

"Go  ahead,  De  Cler,"  I  commanded,  with  one  eye 
on  that  pistol.  "Let  us  end  this!" 

De  Cler  was  well  instructed,  and  this  time  the  mate 
let  him  alone.  He  brought  his  raised  hands  down 
before  Dart's  twitching  face,  as  he  had  done  months 
before,  and  the  unhappy  man's  eyes  almost  instantly 
closed,  though  he  remained  standing. 

"You  will  not  nevair  again  pull  any  nose,"  said 
the  Frenchman.  "  You  will  not  kill  anybody — you 
will  not  give  the  lead.  You  wake  up!" 

Dart  opened  his  eyes.  Fanton  gave  a  spasmodic 
grunt,  and  endeavored  to  rise,  but  sat  down  again, 
while  the  pistol  slid  between  his  knees  and  rested  on 
the  seat  of  the  deck-chair. 

They  had  wakened  together ;  but  it  was  Dart  who 
demanded  my  immediate  attention.  His  face  was 
a  picture  of  utter  bewilderment.  He  looked  around 
at  the  shores  of  the  strait,  the  dingy  town  half  hidden 
in  the  bush,  at  the  anchored  ships  and  steamers,  up 
and  down  the  dedk  of  his  yacht,  and  then  at  me, 
whom  he  recognized  seemingly  for  the  first  time. 

"  Explain  this,  please,"  he  said,  evenly,  in  the  old- 
time  voice  that  I  knew.  "  This  isn't  the  Nautilus — • 
it's  the  Javelin.  I  thought  we  were  at  New  London. 

185 


Land   Ho! 

Where  are  we  now?  Where's  Braisted?"  His  eye 
rested  on  De  Cler,  who,  his  task  done,  was  leaning 
against  the  rail.  " Have  I  been  hypnotized?" 

His  active  mind  had  hit  upon  the  truth,  though  of 
course  with  no  regard  to  the  lapse  of  time. 

"Yes,  Dart,"  I  answered,  "but  everything  is  all 
right.  I  '11  explain  presently.  Sit  down. ' '  He  obeyed 
me,  and  I  turned  to  Fanton,  who  was  leaning  over, 
his  hands  clasped  to  his  stomach,  and  groaning 
bitterly,  while  perspiration  ran  down  his  face. 
"  What's  the  matter  with  you,"  I  asked,  jovially,  as  a 
matter  of  habit  when  asking  that  question,  for  I  was 
perspiring  myself. 

"Dh,  my  stomach!"  he  wailed.  "Shall  I  never 
get  over  this  dyspepsia?" 

"Dyspepsia?"  I  answered.  "I  heard  it  was 
gastritis.  Open  your  mouth.  Let  me  see  your 
tongue." 

I  looked  into  the  cavern.  It  was  a  sight  to  startle 
a  physician  under  any  circumstances.  It  robbed 
me  of  my  self-control  and  my  caution.  His  gums 
were  blue! 

"Good  Heavens!"  I  said.  "You're  poisoned. 
You're  full  of  it!  Hold  up  your  hands!" 

He  held  up  both  arms,  but  the  hands  hung  down 
supinely.  Only  by  an  extreme  effort  could  he  move 
them,  and  then  they  shook  and  clutched  almost 
beyond  his  control. 

"  He  has  been  dosing  you  with  acetate  of  lead  for 
three  months,"  I  said.  "You've  got  lead  colic  and 

186 


The   Magnetized   Man 

wrist  drop.  It's  a  wonder  you're  alive.  Oh,  he 
gave  you  the  lead,  surely!" 

"  Poisoned!"  gasped  Fanton,  stiffening  up.  "  Who 
— who  poisoned  me  ?" 

"  Dart, "  I  answered.  "  But  I  can  pull  you  through, 
Fanton.  Don't  worry." 

His  mind,  barely  awake,  could  grasp  nothing  else. 
Dart,  whom  he  never  liked,  had  poisoned  him.  His 
indignation  overcame  the  sense  of  pain.  His  fingers 
steadied,  and  his  right  hand  moved  down  tow 
ards  the  pistol  that  only  his  subconscious  mind 
knew  of. 

He  cocked  it  and  rose  to  his  feet,  while  we  scat 
tered — all  of  us,  even  Dart.  For  the  cocked  weapon 
was  being  waved  about  by  a  palsied  hand  and  arm 
animated  through  diseased  motor  nerves  by  a  brain 
bent  upon  murder. 

"Dart!"  spluttered  Fanton.  "Poisoned  me! 
Where  is  he?  Stand  still,  there!  Now,  die,  you 
dog!" 

No  doubt  he  thought  he  was  aiming  at  Dart,  but 
the  bullet  went  off  almost  at  right  angles,  and  De 
Cler  fell  without  a  sound — shot  through  the  heart. 
Fanton  had  obeyed  the  suggestion.  He  had  given 
him  the  lead! 

The  investigation  of  the  shooting  by  the  au 
thorities  ashore,  the  disposal  of  the  body,  and  the  run 
home  in  the  Javelin,  during  which  I  nursed  two  sick 
but  sane  men  back  to  health,  add  nothing  to  the 
unsolved  problems  of  this  case.  Only  one  thing  more 


Land   Ho! 

may  be  mentioned.  Fanton,  who  swooned  as  the 
Frenchman  fell,  remembered  nothing  of  the  shooting, 
though  he  had  a  dim,  dreamlike  memory  of  the 
voyage  out  with  Dart.  But  why? 


The    Mistake 


THOUGH  the  big  cruiser's  speed  gave  the  sem 
blance  of  a  twenty -knot  breeze  on  deck,  there 
was  really  no  wind.  The  sea  lay  smooth  save  where 
the  two  bow  waves — billows  of  phosphorescent  foam 
where  they  began — stretched  away  to  starboard  and 
port  like  twin  tails  to  a  comet,  and  where  the  water 
thrown  up  by  the  screws  swirled  and  twisted  astern 
in  currents  of  liquid  flame.  On  each  side,  between 
the  bow  wave  and  the  wake,  and  keeping  pace  with 
the  ship,  was  a  moving  hollow  flecked  with  dots  and 
serpentine  lines  of  light  —  miniature  constellations 
in  an  inverted  liquid  firmament ;  but  there  were  no 
stars,  and  a  thick  haze  hid  the  Manchurian  coast, 
close  at  hand  to  the  east.  So,  as  is  usual  on  such 
nights,  lookouts  peered  keenly  ahead. 

Something  of  the  weird  beauty  of  the  night  got 
into  the  restless  brain  of  the  young  fourth  lieutenant 
and  made  him  unusually  wakeful.  He  remained  on 
deck  long  after  being  relieved  at  midnight,  smoking 

189 


Land   Ho! 

and  meditating.  Drifting  aft  through  the  super 
structure  to  the  quarter  -  deck,  where  he  had  no 
business  to  be,  he  passed  the  two  life-buoy  lookouts, 
and  stepped  to  the  taffrail,  where  hung  the  patent 
log,  its  twisting  line  stretching  far  beyond  the  swirl 
ing  currents  of  the  wake  to  the  rotator  that  spun  off 
the  mileage,  deep  in  quiet  water. 

There  was  an  "Irish  pennant" — a  clinging  rope- 
yarn — on  the  log-line  about  five  feet  abaft  the  taff 
rail.  It  did  not  interfere  with  the  spinning  of  the 
line,  but  it  annoyed  him.  He  could  have  pulled  in 
the  line,  removed  the  yarn,  and  again  slacked  it  off ; 
or,  as  an  officer,  he  could  have  delegated  the  trivial 
job  to  one  of  the  life-buoy  men  within  call ;  but  the 
unrest  of  the  night  was  on  him  and  he  did  neither. 
He  climbed  over  and  down  to  the  small  gallery  ex 
tending  around  the  stern,  where  he  had  less  business 
than  on  the  quarter-deck,  climbed  over  the  railing, 
and,  holding  on  with  his  right  hand,  extended  his 
left  upward  and  outward  towards  the  rope-yarn. 

At  this  moment,  before  he  had  reached  it,  some 
thing  came  into  his  circle  of  vision  that  made  him 
lower  his  eyes.  It  was  a  sparkling  cluster  of  points 
in  the  water  over  to  port,  distinct  and  brilliant,  and 
speeding  towards  the  ship  with  amazing  velocity,  as 
though  caused  by  bursting  bubbles  that  rose  from 
some  huge,  swiftly  swimming  fish.  But  what  fish 
could  make  such  speed?  What  but — ?  The  para 
lyzing  thought  hardly  took  form  in  his  brain. 

He  was  startled  at  a  critical  moment;  his  right 
190 


The   Mistake 

hand  slipped  its  hold,  and  he  fell,  plunging  head-first 
and  backward  into  the  sea.  He  struck  his  head  on 
something  hard  when  far  down,  and  was  so  nearly 
stunned  by  the  impact  that  when  he  found  himself 
on  the  surface,  paddling  weakly,  he  had  not  energy 
to  call  out.  The  ship  was  a  full  length  away  from 
him,  a  dim  and  dwindling  blur  in  the  darkness. 
Its  lookouts  were  looking  ahead,  and  no  one  was 
aware  that  Lieutenant  Halpin  had  fallen  over 
board. 

He  was  young,  strong,  and  a  swimmer.  The  sea 
was  smooth  and  the  coast  to  the  east  but  two  miles 
away.  Floating  on  his  back  and  resting  after  his 
first  frantic  efforts,  he  drew  comfort  from  the  rising 
full  moon.  Until  it  had  reached  the  meridian  it 
would  guide  him  east.  With  some  difficulty  he  shed 
his  shoes  and  outer  clothing;  then,  husbanding  his 
strength,  he  began  what  promised  to  be  a  four-hour 
swim. 

But  it  ended  in  an  hour,  just  about  the  time  the 
moon  ceased  to  be  a  guide,  and  before  the  coast  was 
in  sight  through  the  haze.  A  long,  dark  object  ap 
peared  ahead  of  him.  At  first  it  looked  like  an  over 
turned  boat,  but,  as  he  swam  closer,  it  resolved  itself 
into  a  partly  submerged  cylinder  of  steel,  one  end 
round  and  blunt,  the  other  an  elongated  cone.  His 
professional  knowledge  enabled  him  to  identify  it  on 
sight,  and  the  unborn,  paralyzing  thought  that  had 
followed  his  first  glimpse  of  the  speeding  points  of 
light  now  found  birth  and  expression. 

191 


Land   Ho! 

"It's  a  Whitehead  torpedo!"  he  exclaimed. 

Then  came  other  thoughts,  as  he  felt  of  the  bump 
on  his  head. 

"  It  made  the  bubbles.  I  fell  right  in  its  way.  It 
was  sent  at  the  ship  and  it  missed,  but — what  sent 
it  ?  Something  out  of  sight  in  the  haze  ?  How  far  ? 
I've  swum  at  least  a  mile,  and  that's  as  far  as  these 
things  travel." 

Additional  speculations  as  to  the  improbability  of 
any  craft  torpedoing  a  cruiser  of  the  United  States 
did  not  enter  his  mind ;  he  was  still  a  little  dazed  by 
the  shock  of  the  fall  and  the  blow.  But,  swimming 
to  the  blunt  nose,  he  unscrewed  the  little  propeller 
wheel  that  brought  the  firing-pin  to  place;  then, 
knowing  that  the  two  hundred  pounds  of  explosive 
was  safe  from  detonaton,  he  mounted  the  mechanical 
sea-horse,  which,  with  sixty-nine  pounds  of  compress 
ed  air  expended,  was  now  buoyant  enough  to  bear 
him  waist  high  out  of  water. 

Familiar  with  the  mechanism  of  the  terrible 
weapon,  he  investigated  in  the  darkness  and  found 
the  starting-lever  up,  automatically  locking  the 
engine,  and  the  water-tripper,  which  gave  full  speed 
to  the  air-engine  within,  flat  down  on  the  curved 
steel  hull.  Reversing  both,  the  latter  first,  he 
found  that  the  tandem-screws  in  the  stern  revolved 
slowly. 

Satisfied  that  there  was  still  compressed  air  in  the 
chamber,  and  that  the  torpedo  could  carry  him  shore 
ward,  he  waited  for  the  moon  overhead  again  to  be- 

192 


The   Mistake 

come  a  guide.  But  by  the  time  it  had  reached  a 
definite  westerly  position  the  haze  had  risen  and 
obliterated  it,  and  he  waited  longer,  until  sunrise, 
when  the  haze  cleared  away  and  showed  him  the 
shore  not  too  far  off,  and,  seaward  about  a  quarter  of 
a  mile,  what  seemed  to  be  a  buoy — a  cask  on  end, 
with  a  slim  pole  or  mast  rising  from  it.  But  from 
the  top  of  this  casklike  object  extended  a  man's 
head  and  shoulders,  and  as  it  slowly  approached, 
propelled  by  some  hidden  motive  power,  Halpin 
made  out  that  the  man  was  Japanese,  his  almond 
eyes  nearly  circular  with  astonishment. 

"How  you  swim?"  he  asked,  as  the  curious 
cylinder,  which  Halpin  now  saw  was  of  finely 
machined  steel,  stopped  close  by.  "  What  you 
got?" 

"I've  got  a  Whitehead  torpedo,"  said  Halpin, 
cheerfully,  splashing  the  water  to  maintain  his 
balance.  "What  have  you  got?" 

"This  a  submarine  boat.  I  look  for  torpedo.  I 
fire  it  last  at  Russian.  It  missed,  and  it  is  valuable. 
I  am  far  from  my  base." 

"Russian  be  hanged,"  said  Halpin.  "You  fired 
at  the  United  States  cruiser  Syracuse,  but  all  you  did 
was  to  scare  me  overboard.  Don't  you  know  a 
Russian  from  a  Yankee?" 

KYou  belong  to  that  ship?  You  fall  overboard, 
you  say?" 

"Yes,  and  found  this  toy.  What  have  you  got 
there — a  submarine?" 


Land   Ho ! 

"Yes — and  I  say,  can  you  help?  I  trim  by  the 
stern  and  take  the  torpedo  in  the  tube?" 

"Yes,  I'll  help,  if  you'll  take  me  in,  too.  I'm 
chilled  through." 

II 

The  Jap  called  down  a  few  words  in  his  own 
language;  then,  while  a  curved  forward -deck  and 
pointed  nose  rose  out  of  the  sea,  two  other  Japs  came 
up  and  plunged  overboard.  These,  with  Halpin's 
assistance,  backed  the  torpedo  into  one  of  two 
launching-tubes  that  pierced  the  steel  hull  each  side 
and  above  the  pointed  nose,  and  which,  from  their 
position  and  the  eyelid  action  of  the  shutters  that 
closed  them,  gave  a  facelike  appearance  to  the  boat's 
bow.  Then  they  assisted  Halpin  himself,  numb  in 
the  legs  from  the  long  exposure,  up  the  curved  deck 
to  the  conning-tower,  where  the  first  Jap,  an  in 
telligent-looking  fellow  with  a  lieutenant's  insignia, 
welcomed  him  politely  and  invited  him  down  the 
hatch-ladder. 

"First  submarine  I've  been  into,"  said  Halpin, 
as  he  looked  around  from  the  foot  of  the  ladder  at 
the  maze  of  pipes,  valves,  and  indicators  lining  the 
curved  steel  walls  that  enclosed  him,  "though  I've 
studied  the  subject.  How  do  you  manage  about 
dry  clothes — when  you  fall  out  of  this  thing?" 

"I  give  you  a  change,"  said  his  rescuer,  only  a 
slight  movement  of  his  beady  eyes  responding  to 

194 


The   Mistake 

Halpin's  attempts  at  humor.  "  I  have  one  undress 
coat  —  your  service  buttons.  I  got  at  Annapolis, 
where  I  study." 

"Well,  if  you've  studied  there,"  said  Halpin, 
"  how'd  you  make  such  a  mistake  last  night  ?  Don't 
you  know  the  Syracuse?  There's  nothing  like  her  in 
the  Russian  navy." 

"The  Retvizan.  I  look  for  her.  Three  funnels, 
two  masts,  quarter -gallery.  How  you  fall  over 
board?" 

"Yes — a  quarter-gallery.  It's  a  Cramp  feature, 
but  a  dozen  ships  of  any  nation  have  quarter-galler 
ies.  It's  where  I  fell  from.  If  you'd  looked  close 
you'd  have  seen  me,  and  I'm  no  Russian." 

"My  eyes  very  bad,"  said  the  commander,  point 
ing  to  his  beady  optics.  "  I  break  my  glasses  yes 
terday." 

"Well,"  rejoined  Halpin,  "better  trust  to  some 
other  man's  eyes  then.  If  you'd  torpedoed  Uncle 
Sam's  cruiser  last  night  there'd  be  trouble  ahead  for 
Japan.  But  isn't  the  Retvizan  on  the  bottom  at 
Port  Arthur?" 

"  No,"  said  the  other.  "  She  is  repaired,  and  come 
out.  We  look  for  her." 

While  talking,  the  commander  had  brought  out  a 
complete  change  of  clothing,  and  Halpin  was  soon 
dry  clad  and  comfortable.  There  was  no  privacy; 
it  was  one  long,  electric -lit,  arched  compartment,  in 
the  forward  end  of  which  were  the  torpedo-tubes,  in 
the  after,  the  engine  and  motor.  As  Halpin  dressed, 


Land   Ho! 

the  commander  mounted  to  the  conning-tower,  and 
the  rest,  including  the  engineers,  busied  themselves 
in  hauling  out  of  the  tube  the  rescued  torpedo,  to  re 
charge  it  with  compressed  air.  Halpin  was  dressed 
before  this  was  accomplished,  and  then  the  men- 
seven  beady-eyed  Orientals  as  near  alike  as  brothers 
—ranged  themselves  on  fixed  sitting-places  along  the 
steel  interior. 

Two  remained  forward,  seated  on  the  twin  tanks 
beside  the  torpedo-tubes;  one,  evidently  a  quarter 
master,  took  a  position  at  the  diving-gear — the  wheel 
that  controlled  the  horizontal  rudder  —  near  the 
conning-tower;  and  the  other  four,  engineers  and 
electricians,  squatted  aft  near  the  engine  and 
dynamo.  The  intricate  system  of  piping,  levers,  and 
valves  lining  the  steel  shell  was  so  arranged  that  each 
man  could  do  his  work  without  moving  far  from 
his  sitting -place,  thus  maintaining  the  horizontal 
trim  of  the  boat.  And  to  this  end  Halpin,  at  a 
gesture  from  the  quartermaster,  had  seated  himself 
amidships  on  a  chest  from  which  his  change  of 
clothes  had  come.  When  the  boat,  at  a  bell  and  a 
jingle  from  the  commander,  had  taken  motion  under 
the  gasolene  engine,  and  the  latter  had  called  down 
to  the  quartermaster  to  relieve  him,  the  two  merely 
changed  places,  the  latter  taking  up  the  wet  clothing 
to  dry  out  on  the  deck.  Halpin  needed  his  own, 
for  his  six  feet  of  length  and  eighteen  inches  breadth 
of  shoulder  could  barely  squeeze  into  the  small  gar 
ments  furnished  him. 

196 


The   Mistake 

"Where  are  you  bound  now?"  he  asked,  as  the 
commander  sat  down  and  faced  him.  "Any  place 
where  I  can  get  out  and  join  my  ship?  She's  bound 
for  New-Chwang." 

"  No,  you  will  not  join  your  ship  until  the  war  ends. 
You  have  learned  of  the  existence  of  this  boat,  and 
Japan's  policy  is  to  keep  it  secret." 

"What?"  asked  Halpin,  in  amazement.  "Will 
you  detain  an  officer  of  the  United  States  navy?" 

"  I  could  not  take  your  support  from  under  you 
and  leave  you  to  drown,  so  I  rescued  you.  Is  not 
that  enough?" 

Halpin  looked  steadily  into  the  stolid  face  of  the 
Jap,  while  his  own  hardened. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  slowly,  "I  suppose,  under  the  cir 
cumstances,  it  is  enough.  You  scared  me  overboard 
and  then  picked  me  up.  Anything  further  is  a 
matter  between  those  higher  up.  What's  your 
name  ?  Mine  is  Richard  Halpin,  of  the  United  States 
cruiser  Syracuse." 

"Sagu  Matsumoro,  lieutenant  in  the  Japanese 
navy,  in  command  of  the  submarine  torpedo-boat 
Hacki." 

"  All  right,  Lieutenant  Matsumoro.  Now,  tell  me, 
where  are  you  bound?" 

"  Around  the  Liaotung  Peninsula,  where  we  found 
our  last  victim." 

"Victim?"  inquired  Halpin.  "What  do  you 
mean?" 

"The  Petropavlovsk." 


Land   Ho! 

"What?  Do  you  mean — this  boat — wasn't  it  a 
floating-mine  ?" 

"It  was  this  boat,"  said  the  Jap,  his  beady  eyes 
glistening.  "I  do  not  mind  telling  you,  as  you 
cannot  divulge.  This  little  boat,  unseen,  unknown 
to  the  world,  sank  the  mighty  battle -ship,  and  Russia 
and  the  world  think  it  was  a  mine.  Mine — "  The 
Jap's  face  showed  emotion.  "  What  mine  could  hit 
a  craft  amidships  that  was  under  way?" 

"  By  George,"  said  Halpin,  "  I've  thought  of  that. 
So  it  was  you?  But  why  don't  you  go  into  Port 
Arthur  and  torpedo  them  all?" 

"You  forget  the  mines.  We  have  no  chart,  nor 
definite  information.  A  submarine  is  blind  under 
water,  and  in  more  danger  than  a  surface  boat." 

"And  so  you  lure  them  out.  Do  you  think  the 
Retvizan  is  out?" 

"  The  Retvizan  is  repaired  and  has  come  out.  She 
was  reported  in  this  neighborhood,  but  it  was  no 
doubt  your  ship.  We  will  look  around." 

" There  were  others,"  said  Halpin,  "  that  ran  on  to 
mines — as  was  given  out.  Was  that  right?" 

"The  Pobieda  did  not." 

"  The  Pobieda!    What  other  scalps  have  you  got  ? ' ' 

"The  Poltava,  the  Askold,  the  Diana,  the  Boyarin, 
the  Yenesei." 

"Heavens!  And  you'll  keep  this  up,  I  suppose, 
until  you've  cleaned  up  the  Russian  navy?" 

"More.  I  will  have  abolished  the  armored  ship 
in  all  navies.  What  use  a  battle -ship  that  must  see 

198 


The   Mistake 

what  she  fights?  The  submarine  is  invisible,  and 
strikes  with  the  most  terrible  weapon." 

"Can  you  keep  the  sea?  What's  your  cruising 
radius?" 

4 'Fifty  miles  submerged  —  four  hundred  on  the 
surface.  I  must  come  up  for  air  every  ten  days,  and 
once  in  four  months  I  must  touch  a  base  for  food, 
water — oftener  for  torpedoes." 

"But  you  must  come  up  to  see." 

"No,  nor  to  hear.  We  run  on  the  surface  now, 
until  the  storage -battery  is  charged.  Then  we  sub 
merge.  But  I  show  you  my  mechanical  ear.  Look 
—put  this  on." 

The  Jap  reached  down  from  the  conning-tower  a 
flexible  tube  with  ear-plugs,  such  as  is  worn  by 
telephone -girls,  and  by  a  gesture  to  the  engineer 
stopped  the  engine.  In  the  hush  that  followed,  the 
sound  of  lapping  water  above  came  down  through 
the  opened  hatch ;  but  when  Halpin  had  arranged  the 
apparatus  to  his  ears  this  gave  way  to  a  roaring 
sound,  swelling  and  lessening. 

"  You  hear  the  surf  on  the  beach,  two  miles  away," 
explained  Matsumoro,  when  he  had  described  it. 
"Water  carries  farther  than  air.  I  hear,  even  in 
storm,  the  beat  of  a  steamer's  screw  five  miles." 

"What  is  it?" 

"My  own  invention.  I  have  not  named  it.  A 
parabolic  reflector  with  telephone  diaphragm  in  the 
focus.  I  move  it  in  azimuth  by  this."  He  showed 
Halpin  a  lever,  which  was  also  an  index,  that  swung 

199 


Land   Ho! 

horizontally  beneath  a  compass.  "  It  indicates  the 
direction  of  the  sound,"  he  added,  signalling  again  to 
the  engineer. 

"Good,"  rejoined  Halpin,  as  he  removed  the  ear 
plugs.  "I'm  acquiring  an  immense  respect  for  you 
folks.  But  how  do  you  see  ?  By  a  periscope,  I  sup 
pose;  an  improvement,  I'll  bet!" 

"My  own  invention,  too,"  said  the  Jap,  a  slight 
gratification  showing  in  his  face.  "  Better  than  any 
periscope.  Did  you  notice  the  circular  deck  sur 
rounding  the  conning-tower  above?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Halpin,  looking  upward. 

"It  does  not  show  from  within.  It  is  an  empty 
superstructure  enclosing  in  utter  darkness  the  screen 
of  my  panorama.  The  mast  is  a  hollow  tube  with  a 
lens  at  the  top.  At  twelve  feet  depth,  with  but 
three  feet  of  tubing  above  water,  provided  I  maintain 
an  even  keel,  I  get  a  moving  picture  on  this  screen  of 
every  object — every  wave  and  ship — within  or  on  the 
horizon." 

"And  is  it  reliable,  with  your  bad  eyes?" 

"  Better  with  my  bad  eyes.  My  field  of  vision  is 
close  to  me,  and  near-sightedness  does  not  matter. 
Had  I  not  trusted  to  the  strong  moonlight  last  night, 
I  would  not  have  mistaken  your  ship  for  the 
Retvizan." 

"What  kind  of  a  lens,"  asked  Halpin,  thought 
fully,  "will  give  you  a  circular  reflection?" 

"It  is  my  secret,"  answered  Matsumoro,  with  a 
smile. 

200 


The   Mistake 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Halpin.  "I  forget 
where  I  am — and  what." 

"You  will  know  in  time.  I  will  give  it  to  the 
United  States  when  it  has  served  Japan — also  my 
wireless  telegraphy,  which  transmits  through  the  sea." 

"You're  a  genius!"  exclaimed  Halpin,  in  amaze 
ment. 

"I  was  educated  in  America.     I  am  grateful." 

"And  your  crew?  Are  they  enlisted  men  or 
officers?" 

"Neither.  They  are  trained  by  me,  but  not  en 
listed.  We  are  brothers  of  the  Samurai." 

"The  Samurai?"  said  Halpin.  "The  aristocracy 
of  Japan?" 

"Partly;  but  you  have  nothing  like  it  in  America 
or  elsewhere.  It  is  the  military  class — with  tradi 
tions  of  honor  far  higher  than  such  as  can  be  ac 
quired.  They  are  inherited.  One  of  the  Samurai 
cannot  survive  failure,  humiliation,  chagrin." 

"That's  tough,  in  this  hard,  cold  world,"  said 
Halpin,  grimly.  "You  must  all  die  young." 

"  Not  all.  I  hope  to  live.  I  have  never  yet  failed. 
I  built  this  boat  and  contrived  most  of  her  features. 
I  presented  her  to  my  country  and  was  raised  in 
rank.  I  have  done  more  damage  to  the  Russians 
than  all  of  my  countrymen  combined.  No,  I  have 
not  failed." 

"You  came  near  it  last  night.  What  would  you 
have  done  if  you  had  blown  the  stern  off  the  Syr 
acuse?" 

201 


Land   Ho! 

Matsumoro  looked  gravely  at  him,  then  said, 
slowly : 

"  True,  I  almost  failed.  It  would  have  been  hara- 
kiri  for  all,  and  it  would  never  be  known." 

He  pointed  up  at  a  short,  two-handed  sword  hang 
ing  in  the  conning-tower.  Halpin  shuddered. 

"That's  disembowelling  yourself.  Forget  it,  lieu 
tenant.  We  have  a  saying,  'If  at  first  you  don't 
succeed,  try,  try  again.'  I  wouldn't  turn  myself 
inside  out  for  a  little  thing  like  a  cruiser.  I'd  say, 
'  Better  luck  next  time,'  and  try  again — for  a  battle 
ship.  What's  the  modus  operandi?" 

Matsumoro  brightened. 

"I  receive  my  instructions,"  he  said,  with  en 
thusiasm,  "only  at  night,  by  wireless  telegraphy, 
from  the  private  cabin  of  the  admiral,  who  alone  in 
the  fleet  knows  of  this  boat's  existence.  I  never 
rise  to  the  surface  if  a  ship  is  in  sight.  I  find  my 
victim  with  the  periscope.  I  lie  in  wait  two 
fathoms  down.  I  head  across  her  path.  At  the 
critical  moment,  when  her  course  will  coincide  with 
the  course  of  the  torpedo,  these  men  forward  apply 
the  compressed  air.  Poof — whish,  a  torpedo  is  out. 
Poof — whish,  the  second  is  out.  Then  the  world 
hears  of  another  floating  mine." 

"  But  suppose  your  periscope  is  seen  ?"  said  Halpin. 
"  Suppose  a  plunging,  pointed  shell  comes  down  and 
punctures  you?  You'll  drown  like  a  rat  in  this 
thing,  won't  you?" 

"  It  is  one  chance  in  a  million.     Yet,  if  so,  all  can 

202 


The   Mistake 

escape  to  the  surface  but  one.  We  have  practised 
the  drill.  The  tubes  are  eighteen  inches  in  diameter. 
A  man  may  crawl  in,  take  a  long  breath  when  the 
breech  is  closed.  The  water  is  admitted,  the  bow 
port  opened,  the  compressed  air  applied,  and  he 
goes  out,  like  a  torpedo." 

"  And  the  last  man  remains  because  he  cannot  eject 
himself?"  inquired  Halpin. 

The  Jap  bowed  gravely. 

"It  would  be  myself,  the  commander,"  he  said, 
simply. 

"  Cheerful  prospect  ahead  for  you,  lieutenant,  with 
your  bad  eyesight,"  said  Halpin.  "  If  you  don't  see 
straight,  you  commit  suicide.  If  anybody  sees  you, 
you  drown  or  suffocate.  I'm  not  inclined  towards 
either.  May  I  see  that  periscope?" 

"  In  a  short  time  you  shall  see — all  but  the  lens. 
We  shall  breakfast  now." 


Ill 

After  breakfast  the  electrician  on  duty  ceased 
inspection  of  the  battery  register,  the  engineer 
stopped  the  engine  and  connected  up  the  motor, 
the  quartermaster  closed  the  conning-tower  hatch 
and  ventilator,  and  then  gave  a  turn  to  the  diving- 
gear  wheel,  while  Matsumoro  mounted  the  steps  to 
where  his  head  just  entered  the  circular  opening  in 
the  arched  roof  of  the  compartment, 

203 


Land   Ho! 

It  was  only  when  all  'midship  lights  were  turned 
off,  leaving  the  conning-tower  in  utter  darkness,  that 
Halpin  realized  that  he  was  beneath  the  surface  of 
the  sea. 

"  Come  up  beside  me  on  the  steps,"  called  the  com 
mander.  Halpin  joined  him.  There  was  just  room 
for  him  to  squeeze  his  head  through  the  opening 
beside  the  Jap's.  Above  this  opening  was  another, 
leading  into  the  conning-tower  proper,  and  between 
them  was  a  lateral  view  of  a  garret-like  apartment 
that  he  had  not  noticed  when  he  descended — the 
inside  of  the  circular  superstructure-deck. 

"There  must  be  no  interference  of  light,"  explain 
ed  Matsumoro.  "  So  the  compass  and  all  dials  are 
self -illuminating  and  radiate  very  little." 

Halpin  barely  noticed  the  compass-card,  faintly 
glowing  with  phosphorescence  beneath  his  nose. 
His  attention  was  immediately  taken  with  the  mov 
ing  panorama  pictured  on  the  inside  of  the  circular 
wall.  It  was  as  brilliant  as  a  reflection  in  a  mirror, 
a  complete  reproduction  of  the  sea  and  sky  overhead 
within  an  angle  of  eight  degrees  above  and  below 
the  horizon.  Every  shade  of  the  moving  seas  was 
there,  from  the  deep  black  of  the  near-by  hollows  to 
the  blue-and-white  of  the  sun-kissed  crests. 

The  sun  was  out  of  sight  above  the  angle  of  vision, 
but  the  sky,  the  horizon,  the  land  to  the  east,  and  a 
cloud-bank  to  the  west  were  as  clearly  defined  and 
as  natural  to  the  eye  as  if  looked  at  from  the  deck. 
To  starboard,  heading  towards  the  land  across  the 

204 


The   Mistake 

bow  of  the  boat,  was  a  white  cruiser  with  two  masts, 
three  funnels,  and  a  quarter -gallery,  every  detail  of 
gun,  sponson,  and  deck-fitting  glistening  distinctly 
in  the  sunlight. 

"It's  wonderful!"  exclaimed  Halpin.  "And,  by 
George,  if  I  know  my  own  ship,  that's  the  Syracuse! 
I  wonder  if  she's  looking  for  me!  Can't  you  put  me 
aboard?" 

"No,  I  cannot  catch  her ;  and  see,  now  she  is  head 
ing  south." 

The  pictured  ship  slowly  turned  her  stern  towards 
them,  and,  as  they  looked,  grew  smaller. 

"  She  is  very  fast,  is  she  not  ?"  commented  the  Jap. 
"  But  you  see,  orientation  and  perspective  are  per 
fect.  I  cannot  apply  a  range-finder,  which  is  all 
that  is  lacking." 

"You  don't  need  one.  This  is  enough;  it's  the 
greatest  thing  I  ever  saw.  An  ordinary  periscope 
only  takes  in  a  few  degrees.  Where's  the — I  beg 
pardon!" 

"  The  lens  is  out  of  water.  Other  parts  are  over 
your  head,  but  I  trust  you  will — " 

"  I  won't  meddle,"  said  Halpin.  "  I'm  grateful  for 
what  I've  seen.  Your  side  is  going  to  win  out  in  this 
fight!" 

"More — we  will  abolish  the  battle -ship!" 

Halpin  descended  and  sat  down  in  his  place ;  and 
there  he  remained,  nibbling  biscuit  three  times  a  day, 
sleeping  during  the  night  hours,  occasionally  con 
versing  with  Matsumoro,  watching  the  beady-eyed, 

205 


Land   Mo! 

wooden-faced  Japs  at  their  work,  and  pondering 
ceaselessly  on  the  chance  of  escape  from  the  strange 
prison,  for  three  days  and  nights. 

Then  he  wakened  from  a  morning  doze  to  find 
excitement  in  the  air  and  emotion  showing  on  the 
faces  of  the  crew.  They  were  all  erect,  at  stations, 
and  the  commander  was  at  the  wheel,  his  head  and 
shoulders  hidden  in  the  darkness  above  the  circular 
aperture.  The  'midship  lights  were  out,  and  hang 
ing  down  from  the  conning-tower  was  the  tubing  of 
the  under -water  telephone  —  evidently  used  in  a 
hurry  and  not  replaced  on  its  hook. 

" What's  up,  lieutenant?"  asked  Halpin.  " Found 
the  admiral?" 

Their  last  talk  had  been  of  this  contingency. 

"Yes,  as  you  slept  I  found  him.  The  fleet  is  in 
the  neighborhood — just  where  I  do  not  know.  We 
are  ten  miles  southeast  of  Port  Arthur,  and  the 
Retvizan  is  out.  That  is  the  news  I  received  while 
you  slept.  Listen  at  the  telephone!" 

Halpin  put  the  plugs  to  his  ears.  He  heard  the 
chug,  chug  of  a  steamer's  engines,  and  the  vibratory 
pulsing  of  twin  screws,  with  a  muffled  background  of 
steady  sound  that  could  be  nothing  but  the  wash  of 
the  bow  wave. 

" Come  up  here,"  said  Matsumoro.  "  I  want  your 
eyes  and  your  judgment."  Halpin  climbed  beside 
him.  "It  is  very  thick  above — but  what  do  you 
think?" 

A  little  away  on  the  starboard  bow,  as  reproduced 

206 


The   Mistake 

on  the  screen,  was  a  huge,  gray  ship  heading  nearly 
end-on  towards  the  invisible  submarine,  and  dimly 
outlined  against  fog  almost  as  gray  as  herself.  To 
this  obscuration  was  added  the  thick,  black  smoke 
from  her  funnels,  which,  driven  by  a  following  wind 
under  the  peculiar  atmospheric  condition  of  low 
barometer  that  sometimes  accompanies  fog,  settled 
down  and  enveloped  her — an  onrushing  cloud,  from 
which  occasionally  protruded  a  mast,  a  section  of 
bow,  with  turrets,  guns,  and  sponsons,  the  forward 
bridge  or  the  after,  the  three  funnels  nearly  in  line, 
and  an  occasional  glimpse  of  a  big,  white  bow  wave 
piled  up  before  her. 

"  What  do  you  think?"  inquired  Matsumoro.  "  I 
see  three  funnels  and  two  masts  with  fighting-tops; 
but  I  cannot  see  more.  Has  she  a  quarter-gallery? 
It  is  not  the  Syracuse — your  ship.  But  is  it  the 
Retvizan?" 

"Don't  know,"  said  Halpin,  studying  the  picture. 
"  It's  foggy  out-doors,  isn't  it  ?  That's  a  battle-ship, 
surely.  See  the  size  of  the  forward  turret.  I  never 
saw  more  than  a  photograph  of  the  Retvizan,  but,  if 
I  remember  rightly,  she  has  inset  extensions  to  her 
iimnels." 

"  Soon  we  shall  see.  I  am  looking  for  the  quarter- 
gallery." 

"  Don't  bank  too  heavily  on  that  feature,  lieu 
tenant,"  said  Halpin.  "Your  big  ship  Hatsuse 
carries  one — I  saw  her  at  Hong-Kong.  Don't  blow 
up  your  countrymen!" 

207 


Land   Ho! 

"  I  know, ' '  said  Matsumoro,  a  little  petulantly.  "  It 
is  not  likely  that  I  mistake  my  own  country's  ship." 

"  I  should  hope  not,"  answered  Halpin,  dryly. 
"Yet  you  didn't  know  the  Syracuse.1' 

"  In  the  moonlight,  no.     On  my  panorama,  yes." 

The  picture  on  the  screen  grew  larger,  the  on- 
rushing  monster  not  half  a  mile  away,  and  heading 
to  cross  the  bow  of  the  submarine,  which  barely 
maintained  steerage  way  under  the  motor.  Then, 
far  in  the  rear,  but  still  more  indefinite  and  obscure, 
appeared  another  ship,  and  soon  another,  dim  blots 
upon  the  gray  fog  of  the  morning.  A  fleet  was 
coming  in  column,  but  they  showed  no  colors,  and 
each  drove  before  her  the  thick  blanket  of  black 
smoke  from  her  funnels. 

A  momentary  lifting  of  the  fog  over  to  port  showed 
other  ships,  merchant  steamers  and  sailing  craft. 
Then  it  closed  down,  thicker  than  before. 

"  I  do  not  know, ' '  said  Matsumoro,  doubtingly.  "  Is 
the  whole  Russian  fleet  out  from  Port  Arthur?" 

"  Looks  like  it,"  said  Halpin ;  "  if  they  are  Russian. 
But  you  can't  tell  nowadays.  Battle-ships  are  be 
coming  standardized,  and — by  George,  she's  turning!" 

The  big  war-ship  had  swung  sharply  to  starboard, 
and  Matsumoro's  beady  eyes  glittered  in  the  faint 
light  from  the  compass -card  as  he  gave  the  wheel  a 
turn. 

"They  have  sighted  our  periscope  tube,"  he  said; 
"and  by  running  from  the  periscope  they  have  de 
clared  themselves  Russian,  for  they  have  no  sub- 

203 


The   Mistake 

marines.  Ah,  now  I  see  the  quarter-gallery!  It  is 
the  Retvizan" 

A  momentary  clearing  away  of  the  smoke  plainly 
showed  the  forward  end  of  a  quarter -gallery ;  but 
before  Halpin  had  taken  fuller  cognizance  of  the  ex 
posed  details,  the  Japanese  commander  mildly  hint 
ed  that  there  was  not  much  elbow-room,  and  he 
descended.  Soon  there  was  an  exchange  of  Japan 
ese  commands  and  answers  between  the  commander 
and  the  four  men  at  the  torpedo-tubes ;  then  a  sharp, 
emphatic  word  from  Matsumoro  that  a  man  an 
swered  by  turning  a  lever.  A  whish,  a  cough,  and  a 
thud  followed,  and  Halpin  knew  that  a  torpedo  was 
out;  a  man  opposite  turned  another  lever,  and  a 
second  whish  and  cough  and  thud  announced  the 
departure  of  a  second  torpedo. 

At  a  call  from  above  the  engineer  reversed  the 
machinery,  and  while  the  submarine  shivered  and 
shook  under  the  strain,  Matsumoro  flopped  down 
from  above,  gathered  his  knees  under  him,  and  with 
his  face  buried  in  his  hands  lay  face  down  on  the 
flooring,  moaning  like  a  sobbing  child.  His  men 
surrounded  him,  and  Halpin  asked: 

"What's  the  matter?" 

Matsumoro  did  not  answer,  and  Halpin  bounded 
up  the  ladder.  The  stately  picture  of  power  and 
majesty  moved  slowly  along  the  screen,  dancing 
slightly  from  the  vibration  of  the  hull,  and  while 
the  men  below  exclaimed  in  their  language,  and 
called  up  to  him  loudly,  he  took  in  new  details  un- 

209 


Land   Ho! 

folding  in  the  moving  picture,  one  of  which  was  the 
after-funnel,  showing  for  a  brief  moment  through 
the  smoke.  And  this  funnel  was  a  straight  cylin 
der,  with  nothing  of  the  telescopic -inset  he  had  ex 
pected  to  see. 

Another  detail  of  the  picture  was  a  scintillating 
line  of  red  along  the  dark  gray  of  the  superstructure ; 
and  even  beneath  the  sea  Halpin  could  hear  the 
rattle  of  the  secondary  battery  and  the  whistling 
and  splashing  of  the  sand-blast  of  projectiles  sent  at 
the  periscope. 

"Something  wrong  here,"  muttered  Halpin,  look 
ing  down  on  the  group  beneath.  "Torpedoed  the 
wrong  ship,  I  suppose;  but  she's  Russian,  no  doubt, 
or  she  wouldn't  fire  at  us — though  perhaps  not  the 
Retoizan" 

He  looked  back  at  the  picture,  and  even  as  he 
looked  it  disintegrated.  For  one  fleeting  instant 
there  was  a  glimpse  of  that  after -funnel  rising 
straight  upward.  This  was  followed  by  flame  and  a 
great  bursting  wave  from  over  the  side;  then  the 
whole  detailed  exhibit  of  sea  and  sky  and  exploding 
battle -ship  became  a  confused  and  quivering  mass  of 
color  and  light  from  the  strain  upon  the  periscope 
tube.  At  the  same  instant  there  came  through  the 
sea  a  thundering  crash  of  sound,  with  a  physical  im 
pact  that  pinned  Halpin  against  the  rim  of  the  cir 
cular  opening  and  threw  every  man  of  the  crew 
prone  upon  the  flooring  beside  the  commander. 

Then  the  dancing  mass  of  color  and  light  again 

2IO 


The    Mistake 

took  form  on  the  screen,  and  as  those  below  struggled 
to  their  feet,  and  Halpin  freed  himself  from  the  lat 
eral  pressure,  it  became  a  picture  more  fully  of  dis 
integration  than  that  caused  by  the  vibration  of 
the  tube.  It  was  an  epitome  of  pure  destruction :  a 
separation  of  riven  steel  and  a  hurtling  of  fragments, 
an  apparent  uplifting  in  the  centre,  a  settling  at  the 
ends,  a  distribution  of  curves,  and  a  gradual  sub 
sidence  and  diffusion.  Men  and  other  small  dots 
sank  downward.  The  inclined  deck  of  the  huge, 
gray  hulk  went  deeper  into  the  sea.  Above,  black- 
and-yellow  smoke  thinned  and  floated  away. 

There  came  another  uplifting  of  parts,  a  second 
whirling  of  fragments  and  men,  with  more  belching  of 
smoke,  and  the  utter  annihilation  of  the  after-part  of 
the  battle -ship  as  the  second  White  head  torpedo  im 
pacted  where  sent.  Then  this  shattered  end  sank 
into  the  sea;  the  bow  lifted,  exposing  the  ram  and 
the  curving  forefoot.  Small  dots  slipped  and  slid 
aft  on  the  steep  incline.  The  forward  end  of  a 
bilge-keel  came  into  view,  and,  pointing  upward  at 
an  angle  of  fifty  degrees,  with  fully  a  third  of  its 
length  out  of  water,  the  great,  gray  monster,  wounded 
unto  death,  slowly  launched  itself  downward. 


IV 


With  the  sinking  of  the  battle -ship  the  picture  on 
the  screen  went  out  in  sudden  darkness;  for  the 

15  211 


Land   Ho! 

secondary  gunfire  had  not  ceased  where  a  gun  and 
gunner  stood  intact,  and  one  small  shot  had  hit  the 
tube  of  the  periscope.  Halpin,  dodging  a  stream  of 
water  from  the  tube,  was  hurled  to  the  floor  by  this 
second  shock  of  concussion,  and  when  he  picked  him 
self  up  saw  Matsumoro  on  the  ladder. 

Shaken  and  unnerved  by  the  fall  and  the  scene  he 
had  witnessed,  he  yet  would  have  ascended  to  assist 
in  stopping  the  stream,  but  was  forcibly  held  back  by 
the  others.  When  Masumoro,  paying  no  attention  to 
the  water  flooding  his  boat,  came  down  the  ladder, 
he  brought  with  him  the  two-handed  sword  that  hung 
in  the  conning-tower. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  inquired  Halpin, 
vaguely.  "You  sank  that  ship,  right  enough,  but 
it  wasn't  the  Retvizan.  What  do  you  think  it  was? 
Aren't  you  going  to  stop  that  water?" 

"  It  does  not  matter,"  said  Matsumoro,  calmly.  "  I 
have  failed." 

"Torpedoed  the  wrong  ship,  you  mean,"  said 
Halpin,  hotly.  "Is  that  what  you  call  failure? 
With  all  my  respect  for  you,  lieutenant,  you're  a 
fool!  Are  you  going  to  sink  the  boat  and  drown 
us  all  on  that  account?" 

Without  answering  him,  Matsumoro  turned  on  the 
'midship  lights  and  laid  the  sword  on  the  floor  before 
him.  Then,  with  his  wooden-faced  men  around  him 
in  a  circle,  he  spoke  quietly  and  dispassionately, 
without  inflection  or  gesture,  in  the  Japanese  lan 
guage  for  fully  five  minutes.  Meanwhile,  Halpin 

212 


The   Mistake 

watched  and  listened  curiously,  and  the  boat,  with 
motor  stopped,  hung  poised  at  about  twenty-foot 
depth,  its  reserve  buoyancy  already  balanced  by  the 
weight  of  water  taken  in.  Then  a  man — it  was  one 
of  the  engineers — stepped  forward,  lifted  the  sword, 
bowed  low  to  his  commander,  and  before  the  horrified 
Halpin  could  speak  or  interfere  he  had  torn  open  his 
clothing,  plunged  the  murderous  blade  into  his 
abdomen,  and  with  a  spasmodic  upward  slash,  fell 
writhing  to  the  floor  in  a  death  agony. 

The  others  looked  on  impassively,  and  one  of  them 
picked  up  the  sword ;  but  before  he  could  use  it,  or 
even  kotow  to  the  chief,  Halpin  wrenched  it  away 
from  him,  sending  the  man  reeling  to  the  limits  of 
the  handling-room  with  a  fist  blow  in  the  face. 

"You  damnable  heathen!'*  he  said,  angrily,  snap 
ping  the  blade  across  his  knee.  "  Is  this  the  way  you 
settle  a  mistake  ?  What  do  you  mean — to  kill  your 
self  all  around  ?  Do  you  expect  me  to  follow  suit  ?" 

"  Do  not  interfere,"  said  Matsumoro,  steadily.  "  Do 
not  dare!" 

"  Do  not  dare?"  yelled  Halpin,  in  a  frenzy  of  rage 
and  horror.  "Well,  I  do  dare!  If  another  of  you 
attempts  this  I'll  break  him  in  two!" 

Avoiding  the  now  quiet  body  on  the  floor,  he  ad 
vanced  and  shook  his  fist  in  the  face  of  the  com 
mander,  who  cringed  slightly  at  the  potency  of  that 
fist.  It  was  a  big  one;  Halpin  was  a  big  man. 

"As  I  understand  this,"  said  Halpin,  as  calmly  as 
he  could,  "you  mean  to  die  according  to  your  in- 

213 


Land   Ho ! 

fernal  custom  of  hara-kiri.  Well,  I  admit  your  right 
to  die  any  time  you  like  except  when  your  death 
is  a  nuisance  to  me.  What  am  I  to  do  here  with  a 
lot  of  dead  men?" 

"  That  is  a  matter  with  which  we  are  not  concern 
ed,"  said  Matsumoro.  "Be  kind  enough  not  to  in 
terfere." 

"You  put  me  out  of  this  boat,"  said  Halpin,  "and 
then  do  what  you  like.  She's  sinking  now.  Get  up 
to  the  surface  and  open  the  hatch.  I'll  swim.  I 
don't  want  even  a  torpedo." 

"  No.  Your  being  here  is  not  our  fault.  We  have 
failed,  and  according  to  the  custom  of  our  class  we 
shall  die;  but  we  are  not  responsible  for  you." 

"Why  must  I  die?" 

"That  is  not  it.  We  must  die  quickly — imme 
diately.  We  have  no  time  to  liberate  you.  And 
this  boat  must  not  be  seen;  there  are  other  ships 
above." 

"  Shoot  me  out  of  the  tube,  I  say!" 

"We  have  no  time.     Stand  back!" 

"Not  much.  If  you  die  before  I  do  you'll  die 
under  my  hands — a  slow  death  and  painful.  I'll 
make  it  so!" 

Then,  in  the  presence  of  his  crew,  Halpin  struck 
Lieutenant  Sagu  Matsumoro,  of  the  Japanese  navy, 
in  the  face,  knocking  him  upon  his  back;  and  be 
fore  the  little  man  arose  he  had  taken  him  by  the 
throat. 

"Will  you  put  me  out?"  he  demanded,  as  he 
214 


The   Mistake 

shook  him  vigorously.  "You  heathen,  will  you  put 
me  out?" 

The  others  sprang  forward  bravely  enough,  only  to 
quail  and  fall  back  before  the  menacing  eyes  and 
threatening  pose  of  the  enraged  American.  He 
whipped  their  commander  around  before  them— 
actually  using  him  as  a  weapon  of  offence.  They 
yielded;  the  Samurai  sense  of  honor  was  reduced 
to  a  commonplace  sense  of  fear,  and  men  willing  to 
disembowel  themselves  for  principle  hesitated  to 
face  this  mad  giant.  Halpin  again  turned  to  the 
commander. 

"  Will  you  put  me  out  of  this  ?"  he  demanded,  as  he 
shook  him  about.  "Will  you  come  to  the  surface 
and  put  me  out,  or  will  you  shoot  me  out  the  tube  ? 
Speak  quickly!" 

Matsumoro,  bleeding  at  the  nose,  with  both  eyes 
blackened  and  closed,  was  doggedly  silent.  Once 
more  Halpin  dealt  him  punishment.  He  held  him 
at  arm's-length  and  struck  him  with  all  his  power 
again  and  again.  Three  of  the  others  again  came 
forward  only  to  fall  back — then  Matsumoro  spoke. 

"  I  will  eject  you  from  the  tube,"  he  said,  thickly, 
between  his  bruised  and  stiffened  lips.  "You  can 
not  understand.  You  are  a  brute,  an  exponent  of 
the  physical.  Honor,  patriotism,  traditions — all  are 
lost  upon  you." 

"Right,"  growled  Halpin.  "I'm  young,  and  I 
want  to  live.  Will  you  give  me  your  word  of  honor 
—the  honor  of  the  Samurai — that  if  I  crawl  into  that 

215 


Land   Ho! 

tube  you'll  open  the  bow  port  and  apply  compressed 
air?" 

"  I  give  you  my  word,  and  I  vouch  for  the  rest.  I 
would  take  you  to  the  surface  to  get  rid  of  you  only 
that  we  should  be  sunk  by  gunfire.  We  must  not 
drown  in  this  exigency ;  but  you  cannot  understand." 

"Yes,  I  do.  Rip  your  hearts  out  as  soon  as  you 
like  when  I'm  gone,  but  let  me  go  first!  I'm  not 
interested." 

"You  will  give  me  your  word,  as  an  American 
officer,  not  to  divulge  what  you  have  learned  in  this 
boat?" 

"  No,  for  it  will  be  impossible  for  me  to  keep  it  if 
I  live.  I  shall  be  asked  to  account  for  my  time." 

Matsumoro  studied  his  determined  face  for  a 
moment,  then  said: 

"Very  well.  It  does  not  matter  much.  The 
world  will  know  that  we  died  as  we  lived — success 
fully." 

"If  I'm  any  judge  of  the  world,  lieutenant,  it 
won't  care,  but  I'll  give  you  my  word  not  to  slander 
you." 

The  Japanese  commander  bowed  politely.  He 
led  the  way  to  the  breech  of  the  starboard  torpedo- 
tube,  followed  by  his  men,  whom  he  summoned  by  a 
gesture.  They  closed  the  bow  port,  blew  out  the 
water  from  the  tube  with  compressed  air,  opened  the 
breech-door,  and  stood  back,  waiting  for  Halpin  to 
enter.  He  hesitated  a  moment,  looking  around  at 
their  still,  impassive  faces. 

216 


The   Mistake 

"  I  hardly  know  what  to  say,"  he  began,  "to  you 
men,  only  that  I'm  sorry  it  has  to  be — sorry  that 
you've  made  your  minds  up  to— 

"Do  not  waste  time,"  interrupted  Matsumoro. 
"We  are  already  three  atmospheres  down.  Hold 
your  fingeis  in  your  ears  to  protect  the  tympana. 
There  will  be  boats.  Your  chance  is  good — but 
hurry.  We  are  tired  of  you." 

"Well,  all  right,  if  I've  made  you  tired.  Good 
bye!  I'm  sorry  for  you,  lieutenant.  I'd  taken  a 
liking  to  you." 

"Be  sorry  for  the  periscope.  It  is  lost  to  the 
world." 

"Of  course.     Good-bye'" 

Shedding  his  borrowed  garments  to  the  under 
clothing  he  had  worn  when  rescued,  Halpin  squeezed 
into  the  tube. 

"Take  a  long  breath  when  we  close  the  breech- 
door,"  called  Matsumoro. 

"Right,"  Halpin  answered.     "Go  ahead." 

The  breech-door  closed  with  a  clang,  and  he  filled 
his  lungs  with  air.  Then,  in  pitch-black  darkness, 
he  heard  the  grinding  of  the  bow  port  as  it  lifted,  and 
felt  the  chill  of  the  inrushing  cold  water.  A  shock 
followed  that  nearly  deprived  him  of  his  senses,  and 
the  next  instant  he  was  out  in  the  black  water,  with 
his  fingers  driven  into  his  ears,  and  his  nostrils  al 
most  torn  apart  by  the  pressure  of  three  atmos 
pheres. 

He  was  one  hundred  feet  down — he  had  seen  this 
217 


Land   Ho ! 

marking  on  the  depth  indicator — and  he  thought 
that  he  might  swim  upward,  using  his  feet,  and  aided 
by  buoyancy,  two  feet  a  second.  This  meant  nearly 
a  minute  of  agony.  He  calculated  the  result  as  he 
swam.  He  estimated,  too,  that  he  required  half  a 
second  for  each  kick,  and  that  he  must  kick  out  a 
hundred  times  to  make  the  surface.  He  counted  as 
he  kicked ;  and  before  ten  had  gone  by  the  real  agony 
in  his  lungs  had  begun.  And  this  agony  remained 
with  him  and  increased  with  the  lessening  of  the  pain 
in  his  ears  and  nostrils. 

At  fifty,  he  dared  remove  one  finger,  to  use  the 
hand  in  swimming.  The  pain  on  his  ear-drum  pre 
vented  his  releasing  the  other,  and  he  swam,  one- 
handed,  towards  the  light.  At  seventy -five,  with 
lungs  bursting  and  eyes  starting  from  their  sockets, 
he  valued  life  more  than  the  sense  of  hearing,  and 
struck  out  with  both  hands.  And  every  moment, 
from  the  beginning  of  that  upward  swim  of  a  hundred 
feet  through  the  eternity  that  followed  the  release  of 
the  second  hand,  until,  with  his  head  out  of  water,  he 
expelled  the  air  from  his  lungs  in  a  succession  of  sobs 
and  groans,  his  mind  was  obsessed  with  the  thought 
of  the  fatuous  men  he  had  left  behind.  It  was  not 
with  a  thought  of  pity,  but  of  envy;  because  they 
need  not  die  this  terrible  death  by  drowning. 

Soon  Halpin  could  take  intelligent  cognizance  of 
the  upper  world  to  which  he  had  returned.  Tread 
ing  water  and  resting,  he  -saw  ships  of  all  types,  naval 
and  merchant,  from  the  high-sided  battle-ship  to  the 

218 


The   Mistake 

lowly  Chinese  junk,  some  under  way  in  his  direction, 
others  stopped  near  at  hand.  Nearer  to  him  than 
the  nearest  were  boats  full  of  men,  picking  up  here 
and  there  a  battered  and  bleeding  swimmer.  He 
shouted  when  he  could,  and  one — a  white  boat  that 
looked  familiar — approached  him. 

"My  God,  sir,"  called  the  bow  oarsman  to  the 
officer  in  the  stern  sheets,  "it's  Lieutenant  Halpin!" 

"Halpin!"  yelled  the  officer,  standing  erect,  and 
Halpin  recognized  a  brother  officer  of  the  Syracuse's 
wardroom.  "Where  have  you  been?  We  thought 
you  were  drowned.  How  on  earth  did  you  get 
aboard  the  Hatsuse?" 


The    Submarine    Destroyer 


AT  dock  and  at  anchor  in  the  navy-yards  of  the 
world  lay  the  armored  -  leviathans,  stripped  of 
tooth  and  claw,  preserved  from  rust  by  layers  of 
paint  and  tallow,  grim  reminders  of  a  barbarous  past 
when  men  fought  with  twelve -inch  guns.  And 
abroad  on  all  the  seas  roamed  the  craft  that  had 
stripped  and  banished  them,  the  submersible,  the 
logical  development  of  the  early  submarine — a  fast 
surface  boat  able  to  submerge  and,  like  her  parent, 
to  strike  out  of  the  dark  and  the  distance  with  a 
weapon  as  invisible  as  herself.  But  on  the  postulate 
that  men  cannot  fight  in  the  dark,  the  submersible 
could  not  fight  its  fellow;  so  war  upon  the  sea  had 
come  to  an  end,  and  in  each  navy  rank  above  the 
grade  of  lieutenant  was  abolished,  while  the  navy 
itself  became  an  adjunct  of  the  consular  service, 
Japan  only,  among  the  maritime  powers,  by  building 
submersibles  larger  and  faster  than  the  others,  main 
taining  a  show  of  naval  strength. 

But  as  submersibles  were  not  designed  to  fight 
each  other,  this  did  not  matter.     The  angel  of  peace 

220 


The    Submarine    Destroyer 

hovered  above  and  the  nations  ceased  to  fear  each 
other,  attending  to  internal  affairs.  The  United 
States  had  absorbed  her  trusts  and  was  deporting 
the  negro — a  ten  years'  job,  nearly  done.  England 
and  Germany  had  suffered  peaceful  revolution  and 
emerged  under  popular  government.  The  Sick  Man 
died,  the  Suicide  was  dying,  and  the  big,  bullying 
Bear,  having  passed  through  the  throes  of  nihilistic 
stomachache  and  vomited  forth  the  autocracy,  still 
remembered  the  quarrel  that  was  done,  and  sniffed 
and  growled  along  the  northern  frontier  of  China  in 
a  way  discouraging  to  Chinese  emigration,  which,  in 
fact,  was  a  problem  now  engaging  the  main  attention 
of  Japan,  and  one  which  brought  her  a  community 
of  interest — though  nothing  of  sympathy — with  the 
United  States. 

Under  Japan's  intelligent  rule  China's  open  door 
swung  out  as  well  as  in,  and  the  overflowing  millions 
of  the  prosperous  land  poured  forth  to  people  the 
earth,  but  turned  back  from  that  growling,  grumbling 
bear,  and,  ignoring  the  natural  course  of  empire,  and 
a  Chinese  exclusion  act,  surged  eastward  and  flood 
ed  the  whole  Pacific  coast  of  North  and  South 
America  with  Chinese  cheap  labor,  all  the  more 
troublesome  because  skilled.  But  the  United  States, 
meeting  unexpected  and  strenuous  objection  from 
the  remnant  of  her  black  population  to  being  sent 
to  the  crowded  and  undeveloped  African  coast, 
gathered  up  the  last  free  and  enlightened  brother, 
his  women  and  his  young,  and,  skilled  in  deporta- 

221 


Land    Ho! 

tion  —  including  in  the  round-up  every  Celestial 
below  the  rank  of  diplomat — then  sent  the  consign 
ment  westward  on  the  traditional  course  of  empire, 
or,  to  be  exact,  the  Great  Circle  course  from  San 
Francisco  to  Shanghai. 

Japan  notified  the  States  that  if  the  fleet  of  trans 
ports  approached  within  the  three-mile  limit  of  the 
Chinese  coast  she  would  construe  it  as  an  act  of  war. 
The  United  States,  busy  with  a  coming  presidential 
election,  and  happily  rid  of  the  Dark  Danger  and  the 
Yellow  Peril  at  one  move,  delayed  response,  and 
Japan  recalled  her  ambassador,  with  the  fleet  still  in 
mid-ocean.  Uncle  Sam  mustered  his  navy,  and 
from  all  ports  of  the  world  the  submersibles  flocked 
to  join  the  fleet,  while  the  Russian  Bear  growled  en 
couragement  to  Uncle  Sam,  launched  five  uncom 
pleted  battle-ships,  and  tactlessly  announced  that 
the  reign  of  the  submersible  was  over. 

And  in  the  various  bone-yards  the  old  leviathans 
tugged  in  the  tide  at  anchor  and  mooring-chains,  only 
the  poets  finding  in  this  the  restlessness  of  tethered 
steeds  of  war. 

II 

This  was  the  situation  when  the  U.  S.  S.  Vacquero, 
despatched  from  Honolulu,  caught  up  with  the  fleet 
of  transports  off  the  Saddle  Islands  on  the  Chinese 
coast,  and  found  herself  the  first  fighting  craft  to  join 
them.  She  was  a  standardized  craft,  differing  in  no 

222 


The   Submarine   Destroyer 

essentials  from  other  ships  of  other  navies — about 
two  hundred  feet  long,  spindle-shaped,  but  with  a 
flat  deck  for  about  a  third  of  her  length  amidships, 
railed  in  and  containing  her  conning-tower,  periscope 
tube,  search-light,  hatches,  and  exhausts  from  the 
gasolene  and  liquid-air  turbines  beneath.  Funnels 
she  had  none,  and  but  one  non-corrosive  saluting- 
gun  forward ;  yet  with  the  knowledge  in  mind  of  six 
submerged,  pivoted  torpedo-tubes  hidden  in  her 
underbody,  she  was  a  peculiarly  murderous-looking 
craft,  skimming  along  at  twenty-five  knots;  and 
young  Ross,  the  lieutenant  in  command,  was  in  no 
way  surprised  at  the  enthusiasm  he  aroused  as  he 
charg'ed  up  the  line  of  twenty  huge  steamers  crowd 
ed  with  black  and  yellow  humanity.  Each  ship 
welcomed  him  with  hoarse,  inarticulate  cheers 
merging  into  a  continuous  roar  of  approval,  that 
only  gave  way  to  the  next  outburst. 

"What's  the  news,"  asked  each  skipper  through 
a  megaphone,  as  Ross  raced  past,  and,  "Nothing," 
he  would  answer,  "except  that  our  orders  are  not  to 
fight  except  in  self-defence ;  so,  follow  the  ship  ahead 
until  you  get  signals  from  me  or  a  ranking  boat." 

"  I  wonder,"  said  the  ensign  who  filled  the  post  of 
executive  officer,  "if  the  Japanese  would  really  sink 
those  ships  and  drown  all  those  people — half  of  them 
Chinese." 

"With  as  little  compunction,"  answered  Ross; 
"as  you  would  feel  at  catching  a  fish.  The  negroes 
are  nothing  to  them,  while  they  are  overburdened 

223 


Land   Ho! 

with  Chinese.  And  unless  help  comes,  too,  and  we 
can  outnumber  their  fleet,  we  may  be  the  first  to  go." 

Ross  went  on ;  the  mouth  of  the  Yangtse  was  still 
two  hundred  miles  away,  and  there  was  scouting  to 
be  done.  Numerous  craft  of  his  own  type  and  flag 
appeared  during  the  day,  all  flying  numbers  inferior 
to  his  own,  and,  as  ranking  officer,  he  sent  these  back 
to  accompany  the  fleet.  During  the  years  of  naval 
degeneracy  tactics  had  been  neglected.  Rank  by 
number  and  a  wireless  signal-code  were  the  only  aids 
to  method ;  but  cognizance  by  eyes  and  ears  had  not 
been  abolished,  and  one  craft  met,  No.  23 — Ross's 
was  No.  7  —  rounded  to  alongside,  and  her  com 
mander  hailed : 

"I've  been  close  in.  Have  you  seen  'em?  There 
are  twenty  and  more  mustered  in  the  South 
Channel." 

"Are  they  light  or  in  diving  trim?"  asked  Ross. 

"Light — though  I'm  sure  I  saw  a  periscope  about 
fifty  miles  back.  It  followed  me  a  while.  Some 
thing  big  and  fast  had  submerged.  It  made  fully 
twenty  knots." 

"All  right.     I'm  going  in.     Go  back  and  wait." 

A  periscope  is  a  rigid,  perpendicular  tube  extend 
ing  upward  from  the  interior  of  a  submerged  craft, 
with  a  prismatic  lens  in  the  end  to  catch  and  re 
flect  downward  a  picture  of  what  goes  on  above.  An 
hour  later  Ross  saw  the  periscope  reported  to  him, 
also  the  big  and  fast  "something"  beneath  it — a 
round,  glistening,  steel  hull  capped  by  a  slant-sided 

224 


The    Submarine    Destroyer 

conning  -  tower,  from  the  centre  of  which  rose  the 
tube.  It  seemed  like  a  huge  globe,  its  curvature  in 
dicating  a  diameter  of  at  least  eighty  feet;  but  it 
moved  through  the  water  on  a  course  to  intercept 
the  Vacquero  at  a  speed  almost  incredible  in  a  ball- 
shaped  hull.  There  was  nothing  to  betray  its  na 
tionality,  but,  as  it  evidently  wished  to  speak  the 
Vacquero,  Ross  manned  his  forward  tube,  filled  the 
ballast  -  tanks,  and  when  submerged  to  the  diving 
condition,  headed  for  the  stranger,  and,  still  keeping 
the  deck,  slowed  down  and  stopped.  The  stranger 
stopped  with  an  unusual  suddenness,  and  a  head 
and  shoulders  rose  out  of  the  conning -tower.  It 
was  those  of  a  youngish  man  with  an  alert,  boyish 
face  and  fine,  white  teeth,  much  in  evidence  when 
he  smiled. 

"Hello,  there,  lieutenant,"  he  called  when  the 
Vacquero  had  crept  up  to  him.  "Got  any  oil — light 
oil — more  than  you  need  this  trip?" 

"Plenty  of  medium  grade,  if  that  will  do,"  an 
swered  Ross,  doubtfully.  "But  who  are  you,  and 
what  have  you  there — a  submarine?" 

"  Well,  it's  a  periscope,  as  you  can  see,  and  for  the 
rest,  it's  a  centrifugal  pump  with  a  high-speed  ro 
tary.  My  oil's  too  thick  and  it  heats  up.  That's 
about  all  I  can  tell  you  now." 

"  Hardly  enough,  considering  the  situation.  What's 
your  nationality?" 

"I'm  an  American."  He  smiled  and  showed  his 
teeth. 

225 


Land   Ho! 

"But  your  boat?"  asked  Ross,  impatiently. 

"  Depends  upon  what  she  can  do  to-morrow  and 
which  country  buys  me  out." 

"  Are  you  an  armed  craft  ?  Then  you  are  a  pirate 
if  you  meddle  with  the  affairs  of  nations." 

"I  am  not  armed  nor  armored;  and  the  affairs  I 
meddle  with  will  go  to  the  bottom.  The  other  side 
won't  care." 

"Don't  quibble  with  me.  I  am  a  government 
officer  with  a  tube  trained  upon  you  now." 

"You  couldn't  hit  me  with  every  torpedo  you've 
got,  lieutenant,"  said  the  stranger,  smiling  again. 
"You'd  have  to  strike  a  horizontal  knife-edge  with 
the  firing-pin  of  your  torpedo,  and  it's  one  chance 
in  a  million.  You  can't  aim  in  a  vertical  plane." 

Ross  puzzled  over  the  statement,  and  the  stranger 
went  on. 

"  I've  neither  rudder  nor  screw  to  catch  a  torpedo. 
I  can  get  thirty-five  knots  in  five  seconds.  I  can 
stop  as  quickly.  I  might — though  I'm  not  sure — 
run  away  from  a  torpedo." 

"Nonsense,"  said  Ross.  "It's  beyond  the  power 
of  machinery." 

For  answer  the  stranger  ducked  into  the  conning- 
tower,  closed  the  divided  hatch,  then,  throwing  a 
spoon -shaped  sheet  of  water  high  overhead,  the 
curved  object  darted  about  a  hundred  yards  to  star 
board,  stopped  almost  instantly,  and  darted  back 
to  its  former  position.  Ross's  eyes  opened  at  the 
exhibition,  and  when  the  stranger  again  rose  out  of 

226 


The   Submarine   Destroyer 

the  hatch,  said:  "  What  in  the  name  of  Heaven  have 
you  got  ?  How  do  you  get  that  speed  in  a  ball  ?  I 
should  say  it  was  forty  knots  an  hour. ' ' 

"No,  thirty-five,  or  a  little  less.  It's  twenty 
under  water.  I  can  catch  and  destroy  any  sub 
mersible  afloat  or  submerged.  I  suppose  you  know 
that  Russia  has  gone  back  to  the  battle-ship." 

"Yes.     Are  you  connected  with  that?" 

"Partly.  She  stole  some  of  my  features  after 
granting  me  a  patent.  The  submersible  is  doomed, 
and  the  battle-ship  will  again  become  the  backbone 
of  a  fleet." 

"  If  you  are  unarmed,  how  can  you  destroy  any 
thing,  even  though,  as  you  claim,  invulnerable  to 
attack." 

"  Watch  out  to-morrow.  Keep  your  colors  hoist 
ed,  even  when  submerged.  I  want  to  make  no  mis 
takes.  I  have  a  fluorescent  search  -  light,  but  it  is 
none  of  the  best." 

"You  are  not  a  benefactor  of  humanity,"  said 
Ross,  with  a  slight  shudder.  "You  bring  back  the 
battle-ship — and  war  upon  the  sea." 

"  But  if  your  oil  is  any  good,  and  my  engine  don't 
heat  up,  I'll  prevent  the  drowning  of  several  thou 
sand  people  to-morrow.  It  all  depends  upon  the 
oil.  Now,  let's  have  it,  lieutenant,  and  I'll  credit  the 
government  when  I  sell  out." 

The  round  craft  moved  back  alongside,  and  a  rope 
thrown  by  her  commander  was  bent  to  a  small  keg 
brought  up  from  the  engine-room.  "  You  see,  lieu- 
16  227 


Land   Ho! 

tenant,"  said  he,  as  he  hauled  the  floating  keg  of 
oil  up  the  curved  incline,  "it's  a  combination  en 
gine,  cool  enough  under  liquid  air,  but  hot  under 
gasolene." 

"I  see,"  answered  Ross,  with  a  smile.  "But,  do 
you  know,  you've  told  me  most  of  your  features." 

"All  but  my  motive  and  offensive  power.  Well, 
puzzle  it  out,  and  you're  welcome.  And  remember 
— keep  your  colors  up,  all  of  you.  Good-bye." 

He  sank  down  the  hatch  with  the  keg,  closed  it 
from  below,  and  the  craft  slowly  settled,  disappeared, 
and  buried  all  but  about  three  feet  of  the  periscope 
tube.  Then,  with  a  swish  of  water,  this  tube  darted 
away  and  was  lost  to  sight  in  the  distance.  Ross 
emptied  his  tanks,  rang  the  "  jingler,"  and  went  on. 

"  Liquid  air  submerged  and  gasolene  for  surface, 
of  course,"  he  mused.  "Unarmored,  yet  invulner 
able.  Unarmed,  yet  able  to  destroy.  No  screw  nor 
rudder,  yet  faster  than  a  turbine  boat.  Fluorescent 
search-light.  Ball-shaped,  too.  A  centrifugal  pump. 
What  for?" 

He  had  forgotten  one  feature  named  and  assumed 
one  not  named. 

Ill 

From  information  derived  from  the  craft  he  met 
and  sent  back  that  day,  Ross  learned  that  the  six 
ranking  officers  of  the  navy,  who  might  supersede 
him  should  they  arrive,  were  too  far  away  to  take 

228 


The   Submarine   Destroyer 

part  in  the  events  of  the  morrow,  so  he  formed  his 
plans  with  regard  to  his  own  judgment  and  orders. 
About  midnight  he  made  the  bell-buoy  at  the  outer 
bar  of  the  Yangtse-Kiang,  and  stopped  his  engine. 
Then  at  daylight  he  saw  the  fleet,  a  line  of  large, 
black  craft,  extending  from  the  shallows  on  the 
southern  shore  far  to  the  north,  where  Shawei  Shan 
Light  still  twinkled  in  the  gray  of  the  morning.  Not 
even  a  submersible  could  sneak  through  that  line 
undiscovered,  for  so  slight  a  noise  as  the  humming 
of  her  engine  would  be  detected  by  the  sensitive 
telegraph-receivers  that  every  boat  carried.  Some 
where  among  that  line  was  the  flag-ship,  and,  hoist 
ing  the  ensign,  Ross  signalled  in  the  international 
code,  asking  the  intentions  of  the  Japanese  fleet. 

The  reply  was  more  to  the  point  than  had  been  the 
ultimatum  of  Japan.  The  first  transport  to  pass  the 
line  of  ships  was  to  be  considered  as  within  the  three- 
mile  limit  and  would  be  immediately  torpedoed  and 
sunk.  Ross  replied  that  the  transports  would  make 
the  attempt,  and  that,  while  his  orders  bound  him 
to  remain  strictly  on  the  defensive,  the  first  sub 
mergence  of  any  Japanese  craft  in  this  contingency 
would  be  considered  a  hostile  act.  To  this  no  reply 
was  given,  and  he  turned  back  to  join  the  transports, 
fully  awake  to  the  responsibilities  of  his  position. 

There  were  no  precedents  to  guide  him.  Since  the 
destruction  of  the  Japanese  battle-ships  by  the  early 
submarines  years  before,  the  torpedo  had  never  been 
used  in  war.  The  tactics  of  the  past  were  useless  in 

229 


Land   Ho  I 

a  battle  fought  in  the  dark,  illumined  only  by  the 
short,  scant  light  of  individual  search -lights.  A 
battle  fought  wholly  on  the  surface  was  not  to  be 
considered,  for  a  craft  of  either  side,  hard-pressed, 
would  submerge  for  safety.  So,  with  regard  to  the 
utter  futility  of  any  defensive  action  not  involved  in 
high  speed,  and  the  fact  that  a  periscope  tube  above 
water  could  be  seen  farther  than  the  whole  hull 
beneath,  decided  Ross  to  keep  his  fleet  on  the  sur 
face  until  driven  below. 

To  this  end  he  reformed  the  transports  into  four 
columns  of  five  ships  each,  gave  the  submersibles  a 
numerical  place — he  had  sixteen  besides  his  own 
boat — and  directed  them  to  divide  and  flank  the 
transports  in,  but,  if  hostilities  began,  to  charge 
around  the  square  at  full  speed  and  torpedo  every 
enemy  that  gave  signs  of  its  presence.  And  so  in 
structed,  the  six  columns  of  ships  crept  in,  at  mid-day 
being  close  to  the  Japanese  line — now  a  row  of  dots— 
for  they  had  sunk  to  the  awash,  or  diving  condition, 
and  showed  nothing  above  water  but  their  circular 
conning-towers. 

Down  in  quiet  compartments  below  the  water- 
line,  isolated  from  one  another,  and  each  adjusted 
in  wave  length  to  a  fellow  on  some  other  ship  of  the 
navy,  were  the  transmitters  and  receivers  of  the 
under-water,  wireless  telegraph  system  adopted  by 
the  government.  The  sixteen  "attuned"  to  those 
in  the  craft  under  Ross  were  manned,  and  the 
pneumatic  tubes  that  brought  the  messages  to  the 

230 


The    Submarine    Destroyer 

conning-tower  were  tested ;  but  until  the  boats  sub 
merged,  signalling  was  to  be  by  flags.  With  this  pre 
arranged  and  understood,  Ross  was  a  little  surprised 
at  the  popping  into  the  conning-tower  of  a  cylinder 
containing  a  message  from  No.  5  of  his  fleet,  with 
which  boat  he  was  even  then  in  communication  by 
flags.  It  was  a  meaningless  jumble  of  letters  only 
one  cluster  of  which  formed  a  word,  and  that  word 
was  "Fulton." 

"Fulton?"  said  Ross  to  his  aid.  "One  of  the 
first  submarines  bore  that  name.  The  Russians 
bought  her  in  1904." 

"I  read  up  on  those  boats  lately,"  said  the  en 
sign.  "They  could  stand  on  their  heads,  or  tails — 
almost,  couldn't  they?" 

"  Yes,  but  they  were  no  good.  Slow,  and  with  but 
one  tube.  See  what  five  has  to  say." 

Asked  by  flags,  No.  5  denied  having  telegraphed, 
and,  concluding  that  it  was  an  untranslatable  mes 
sage  caught  from  some  synchronous  machine  in 
the  Japanese  fleet,  Ross  put  the  matter  from  his 
mind. 

With  the  American  ensign  flying  from  every  mast 
and  jack-staff,  the  great  fleet  moved  slowly  in,  and 
when  the  Vacquero,  ahead  and  in  the  centre,  had 
passed  through  the  Japanese  line,  the  latter's 
formation  changed.  Like  the  swinging  of  two  huge, 
hidden  gates  half  the  line  drew  to  starboard,  half  to 
port,  and  both  closed  in,  forming  a  wide  lane  of  dots 
through  which  the  fleet  would  have  to  pass.  Then 

231 


Land   Ho! 

the  four  leading  transports  and  the  flanking  pro 
tectors  entered  the  lane,  and  the  two  lines  of  dots 
sank  out  of  sight.  Ross  signalled  "  full  speed  ahead ' ' 
and  rang  his  jingler,  but  what  followed  was  beyond 
his  cognizance  and  control. 

He  turned  sharply  to  port  and  joined  the  line  of 
submersibles  racing  around  the  square,  and  now  and 
then  discharged  a  torpedo  when  he  sighted  a  periscope 
tube,  but  there  was  no  uplift  of  water  and  smoke  to 
indicate  the  impact  on  a  submerged  hull,  and  soon 
the  periscopes  disappeared.  The  Japanese  had 
taken  bearings,  and  submerged  still  farther  for  a 
rush.  From  the  twenty  transports  came  a  hoarse, 
buzzing  sound,  the  combined  effect  of  many  thou 
sand  human  voices  raised  in  prayers  and  shrieks  of 
terror.  It  rose  and  fell,  but  increased  on  the  whole 
and  attained  a  volume  that  prevented  Ross  from 
hearing  the  usual  muffled  boom  of  under-water  ex 
plosion.  But  he  could  see,  with  harrowing  dis 
tinctness,  the  results  of  that  hidden  rush.  Mound 
after  mound  of  lifted  water  arose  alongside  of  the 
doomed  transports,  which,  bursting  like  huge  bub 
bles,  released  clouds  of  black  and  yellow  smoke. 
Here  and  there  among  them  could  be  seen  a  cloud  of 
white,  attesting  to  shattered  boilers,  but  the  sound 
of  the  steam  could  not  be  heard  above  the  buzzing. 

It  was  soon  over.     The  outer  ships  suffered  first; 
but  they  had  hardly  begun  to  heel  and  settle  before 
the  mounds  and  clouds  lifted  beside  the  inner  col 
umns  of  ships.     Nothing  could  be  done  for  them, 

232 


The   Submarine   Destroyer 

and  when  a  message  of  one  word — "torpedoed," 
came  from  No.  4  of  his  fleet,  Ross  was  glad  of  an  ex 
cuse  to  submerge,  not  only  to  shut  out  the  agoniz 
ing  sights  and  sounds,  but  to  meet  the  enemy  on 
more  even  terms  and  fight. 

"Where,"  asked  the  ensign,  whose  eye  as  he 
caught  it  reflected  the  horror  in  his  own — "where  is 
that  invincible  ball  that  was  to  prevent  all  this?" 

Ross  shook  his  head;  but  the  question  called  to 
his  mind  the  admonition  of  the  stranger,  and  with 
the  signal  to  submerge  he  ordered  all  ensigns  to  be 
left  flying  at  the  staffs.  Then  he  rang  bells  and 
pushed  buttons,  the  engine-room  responded,  and  in 
fifteen  seconds  they  were  in  the  dim  gray  of  the  under 
sea  with  only  the  telegraph  to  connect  them  with  the 
fleet,  and  only  the  picture  on  the  periscope  table  to 
remind  them,  to  the  last  detail,  of  reeling  mast  and 
crowded  boat,  of  the  final  and  utter  annihilation  of 
the  transports. 

IV 

In  that  day's  battle  beneath  the  sea  it  was  proved 
that  men  will  fight  in  the  dark,  provided  they  are 
willing  to  die,  and  that  the  submarine  can  fight  its 
fellow,  provided  that  fellow  gets  within  range  of  its 
search-light.  For  all  that  it  was  a  huge  game  of 
blindman's-buff ;  and  Ross,  in  a  directive  capacity, 
could  know  of  the  progress  of  the  game  only  by  the 
faint,  booming  sounds  with  occasional  sharp  con- 

233 


Land   Ho ! 

cussions,  that  came  to  him  through  the  sea,  and  by 
the  short,  incoherent,  and  abbreviated  messages  that 
came  popping  into  the  conning-tower  from  below. 
"Torpedoed,"  said  one,  and  there  was  no  more  from 
this  source.  "Tor—  '  said  another,  the  hiatus  in 
the  message  explaining  itself.  One  signalled  that 
she  was  engaging  five,  but  said  no  more  about  it. 
Another  reversed  the  tenor  of  news  and  announced 
three  of  the  enemy  sunk,  and  hope  for  herself,  but 
was  not  heard  from  again.  After  the  initial  signal 
to  "find  and  fight,"  Ross  sent  no  distracting  direc 
tions  ;  he  had  his  hands  full  with  the  care  of  his  own 
boat,  with  watching  the  search-light,  reading  the 
messages,  and  checking  off  the  losses. 

It  was  an  under- water  melee ;  there  was  no  possibil 
ity  of  cognizance,  evasion,  or  intelligent  direction. 
Two  craft  could  detect  each  other's  presence  by  their 
telegraph -receivers,  could  approach  and  flash  their 
search-lights  at  close  torpedo  range.  If  friends,  they 
could  pass  on  and  look  for  others;  if  enemies,  slip 
their  torpedoes  and  also  pass  on  —  or  down.  In 
quick  succession  Ross  passed  two,  more  by  chance 
than  through  any  advantage  of  seamanship  or  skill, 
meeting  them  head  on  at  full  speed,  and  launching 
at  each  a  broadside  torpedo,  while  dodging  the 
return  fire  by  quick  use  of  the  horizontal  rudder. 
All  four  torpedoes  missed,  and  with  eyes  flashing  with 
excitement  in  the  new  game  of  life  and  death,  Ross 
ground  the  wheel  to  port,  to  take  another  chance  at 
two  to  one ;  but  he  saw  dimly  in  the  lessening  glow 

234 


The   Submarine   Destroyer 

of  his  search-light  that  only  one  was  returning — the 
other  passing  on — and  he  chose  a  course  back  that 
would  leave  it  to  starboard,  open  to  his  unexpended 
broadside.  Back  he  went  at  full  speed,  and  at 
equal  speed  came  the  enemy,  a  black  and  growing 
blur  behind  a  long  shaft  of  light.  It  was  soon  over ; 
as  the  ill-defined  blur  took  form  and  outline,  he  let 
fly  the  starboard  torpedoes,  one  after  another,  then 
ground  down  the  diving  -  wheel  to  avoid  similar 
messengers  of  death.  But  whether  any  were  sent 
he  never  knew.  Hardly  had  the  two  rushing  craft 
come  abreast  than  there  was  an  explosion — yet  with 
none  of  the  spectacular  effects  of  an  explosion  in  air 
—no  flare  of  red  and  hurtling  of  fragments  and 
sailing  away  of  thinning  smoke — only  a  dull,  boom 
ing  report,  a  physical  impact,  and  a  blotting  out  of 
the  black  boat  by  a  milky  cloud.  Thrown  off  his 
feet  by  the  concussion,  and  anxious  for  the  safety  of 
his  own  craft,  Ross  had  just  time  to  throw  his  search 
light  downward,  and  catch  a  fleeting  glimpse  of  the 
shattered  fragment  of  hull  wobbling  towards  the 
bottom  before  it  was  hidden  from  view  by  the  angle 
of  the  hull.  Then  came  a  telephone  call  from  the 
engine-room  saying  that  the  horizontal  steering-gear 
and  the  stern  torpedo-tube  air- valve  were  damaged. 
With  all  broadside  tubes  empty,  and  the  stern 
tube  and  steering-gear  out  of  order,  Ross  decided  to 
avoid  chances  for  a  time,  and  with  men  at  work 
reloading,  repairing,  and  coupling  up  the  hand-gear, 
he  went  on  in  the  darkness  with  search-light  shut  off 

235 


Land   Ho! 

and  the  boat  slowly  lifting  to  the  surface  from  the 
reserve  buoyancy,  unchecked  by  the  diving -gear. 
And  now  there  was  time  to  read  the  messages  piled 
up  under  the  end  of  the  pneumatic  tube  from  the 
telegraph-rooms. 

He  had  counted  twenty-six  of  the  enemy  when  the 
long  line  of  dots  had  changed  to  a  lane  before  sub 
merging  at  the  beginning.  He  had  entered  this 
fight  with  sixteen  craft  besides  his  own.  Of  these, 
nine  had  been  destroyed,  and  had  sent  their  last 
messages  while  on  the  way  to  the  bottom.  How 
many  had  gone  down  unable  to  signal  he  could  not 
guess.  But  of  the  twenty-six  Japanese  boats  eleven 
had  been  reported  sunk,  and  there  was  the  same 
doubt  of  the  unreported. 

"Not  bad,"  he  muttered.  "Only  fifteen  left. 
Perhaps  we  can  pull  through.  It  '11  be  a  great  thing 
for  me  if  we  do." 

Then  came  a  second  thought,  and  a  revulsion  of 
feeling.  Further  fighting  would  involve  the  loss  of 
more  boats — the  death  of  more  men.  He  had  done 
enough  for  prestige.  So  he  signalled  to  his  fleet  to 
muster  on  the  surface  ten  miles  due  east,  and  swung 
his  boat  to  the  course. 

But  a  faint,  white  light  that  was  not  from  above 
shone  in  through  the  after-dead-lights  of  the  conning- 
tower,  and  he  knew  that  a  search-light  had  caught 
him.  He  turned  sharply  to  port ;  the  dim  effulgence 
followed.  Back  to  starboard;  it  increased  as  a 
second  search-light  settled  on  his  craft.  He  could 


The   Submarine    Destroyer 

not  see  the  whole  path  of  light  nor  the  craft  that 
sent  it;  and  he  judged  it  best  not  to  flash  his  own. 
He  might  outrun  the  two,  but  others,  attracted  by 
his  light,  might  catch  him.  So,  after  a  few  more 
futile  turns,  he  settled  down  to  a  steady  run. 

But  little  by  little  the  light  grew  stronger,  and  soon 
he  saw  the  bows  of  the  two  pursuing  craft,  huge 
blots  in  the  thick  gray  of  the  sea,  each  flashing  its 
long  pencil  of  light.  One  quivered  as  he  watched  it, 
and  he  knew  the  cause;  a  slim,  black,  fishlike  thing 
crept  into  it  from  the  tube  in  the  stem  of  the  boat — 
a  torpedo,  making  thirty  miles  an  hour  and  catching 
up  at  the  rate  of  fifteen.  A  slight  sheer  to  port 
took  the  Vacquero  out  of  its  path,  and  it  passed  on 
ahead. 

And  now  out  of  the  gray  sea  to  starboard  came 
something  else,  big,  black,  and  indefinable  at  first, 
then  taking  form — a  curious  form  for  a  craft  of  any 
kind,  surface  or  submarine.  It  resembled  two  salad- 
bowls  with  edges  together,  convex  above  and  below, 
concave  near  the  edges  which  extended  sharply  and 
horizontally  for  about  twenty  feet  from  the  termi 
nation  of  the  convex  curve.  It  was  circular  in  a 
lateral  plane,  without  rudder,  propeller,  or  any  visi 
ble  means  of  propulsion;  and  it  darted  up  close  to 
the  Vacquero,  and  stopped  with  a  suddenness  which, 
with  its  spherical  upper  body,  identified  it  as  the 
strange  craft  interviewed  the  day  before. 

As  Ross  viewed  it  through  the  dead -lights,  the 
search-lights  of  the  pursuers  flooded  it;  then  both 

237 


Land   Ho! 

quivered  as  two  more  slim  spindles  darted  out  of  the 
tubes  and  into  the  glow  of  light .  They  came  on  quick 
ly,  one  behind  the  other,  straight  for  the  big,  steel 
bowl  that,  at  equal  speed,  was  now  accompanying 
the  Vacquero  as  if  inspecting  her.  The  first  torpedo 
struck  just  above  the  circular  knife-edge  that  girdled 
the  craft,  but  the  blunt  bulge  of  the  nose  slid  upward 
on  the  long  concave,  and  the  torpedo  passed  on 
overhead.  The  other  repeated  the  performance,  but 
struck  below  the  edge,  going  downward  and  on. 
Then  the  bowl  became  a  shadow,  its  outlines  lost  in 
the  rapidity  of  its  rush  backward  out  of  the  path  of 
light.  With  nothing  to  lose  now,  Ross  turned  on 
his  own  search-light  and  caught  the  stranger  just  in 
time  to  see  it  gently  and  glancingly  touch  on  the 
port  bilge  of  the  nearest  pursuer.  Then,  whirling 
like  a  great  top,  it  darted  away,  returned  across  the 
stern  of  its  victim,  and  gently  brushed  up  against 
the  second.  Both  craft,  wounded  by  that  sharp, 
circular  knife-edge,  dived  slowly  downward,  their 
paths  illumined  for  a  time  by  their  own  search 
lights. 

"It's  him,"  said  Ross,  as  he  motioned  his  aid  to 
shift  the  wheel.  "And  we'll  go  back  with  him. 
We've  done  enough  running  away." 

"But  what's  his  motive  power,"  asked  the  ensign, 
whirling  the  wheel.  "It's  unearthly  —  just  as  he 
said,  no  screw  nor  rudder." 

"Don't  know,"  answered  Ross,  squinting  through 
the  sights  of  the  azimuth  at  the  dim  shadow  receding 

238 


The    Submarine    Destroyer 

in  the  gloom.  "  But  his  motion  seems  all  lateral— 
that  is,  in  any  horizontal  direction  at  torpedo 
depth." 


With  search-light  sweeping  from  starboard  to  port, 
they  charged  back  on  the  bearing  taken  by  Ross,  and 
on  a  long,  rising  incline  that  soon  brought  the  light 
of  day  into  the  conning  -  tower,  by  which  time  the 
tubes  were  loaded  and  the  hand  diving-gear  in  readi 
ness.  They  might  have  steered  down  again,  but 
the  light  suggested  to  Ross  what,  in  the  excitement, 
had  not  occurred  to  him  since  the  first  submergence 
—to  inspect  the  periscope,  the  optical  instrument 
that  reproduces  on  a  table  a  moving  picture  of  sea 
and  sky  above.  And  there  on  the  surface  ahead  of 
the  Vacquero  was  a  column  of  black  craft  steering 
east  that  Ross  had  no  difficulty  in  recognizing  as  the 
Japanese  fleet.  There  were  twelve  of  them,  and 
the  height  of  their  bow  waves  indicated  full  surface 
speed.  The  ensign  joined  Ross  at  the  table,  and 
their  eyes  met. 

"Three  of  them  on  the  list  of  the  unrecorded," 
said  Ross;  "but  the  one  that  gets  our  signals  is  still 
at  work.  They're  going  out  to  intercept  us.  Cut 
out  that  instrument  and  signal  all  the  rest  to  dis 
regard  rendezvous." 

"It's  No.  2,"  answered  the  young  officer,  with 
a  final  glance  at  the  moving  picture  on  the  table. 

239 


Land    Ho ! 

"Look — look!"  he  exclaimed.  "The  two  ahead, 
they're  submerging — they're  diving.  How's  that?" 

"  They're  sinking,"  said  Ross,  after  a  moment's  in 
spection.  "They  submerge  on  an  even  keel,  as  we 
do.  That  round  fellow  is  meeting  them.  Send  the 
signal  just  the  same.  We'll  get  to  the  top." 

The  periscope  had  shown  the  two  leading  craft 
lifting  their  sterns  and  dipping  their  bows.  When 
the  water  had  dripped  from  the  conning-tower  dead 
lights,  and  they  looked  directly  at  the  sight,  these 
two  had  nearly  disappeared,  while  the  third  was 
beginning  to  dip,  and  astern  of  her,  rushing  back  to 
meet  the  fourth,  was  that  huge,  glistening  convex 
surmounted  by  the  periscope  tube.  The  two  men 
threw  open  the  dead-lights  for  a  clearer  view,  while 
their  boat  in  the  "awash"  condition,  like  the  other, 
headed  towards  the  rear  end  of  the  line  and  hurried, 
with  all  the  power  of  her  engines,  to  be  "in  at  the 
death." 

There  was  not  time.  Perhaps  in  the  whole  history 
of  naval  war  a  fleet  was  never  sunk  so  quickly.  The 
speed  of  the  Japanese  submersibles  was  at  least 
twenty-five  knots  an  hour,  that  of  the  destroyer 
thirty-five — a  total  rate  of  approach  of  sixty.  The 
column  was  less  than  a  mile  long.  In  less  than  a 
minute,  and  before  the  leading  craft  had  entirely 
disappeared,  all  but  the  last  had  felt  the  touch  of  the 
sharp,  circular  knife,  and  was  dipping,  rolling,  or 
staggering,  according  to  the  nature  and  location  of 
the  wound.  The  last  Japanese  boat  had  turned 

240 


The    Submarine    Destroyer 

aside  and  was  heading  back  to  the  west,  with  about  a 
half-mile  lead  of  its  enemy.  The  slanting  spoon  of 
water  surmounting  the  latter  rose  higher  as  it  started 
in  pursuit,  and  Ross  ordered  all  tanks  emptied,  and 
followed. 

"Call  our  side  to  the  surface,"  he  said,  "and  bring 
them  along." 

A  cylinder  popped  up  from  below  as  he  spoke, 
and  Ross  examined  the  message  it  contained.  It 
was  the  same  meaningless  jumble,  with  the  Eng 
lish  word  "Fulton"  that  had  come  to  them  be 
fore. 

"That's  the  boat,"  he  said,  nodding  ahead,  "that 
carries  the  synchronous  machine.  Well,  she's  done 
for." 

But  it  was  not  as  he  expected.  The  signal  to  rise 
was  sent  to  his  fleet,  and  soon  dots  appeared  on  the 
surface,  some  to  starboard,  but  most  of  them  to  the 
west,  and  ahead  of  the  fleeing  Japanese.  A  few 
signals  to  these  started  them  towards  her,  and  be 
fore  Ross's  tanks  were  quite  emptied  he  had  the 
satisfaction  of  seeing  her  colors  flutter  down  from 
the  jack-staff.  She  had  surrendered. 

But  something  seemed  to  have  happened  to  the 
invincible  craft  that  pursued  her.  The  spoon  of 
water  had  subsided,  and  as  Ross  looked  at  her  he 
noticed  that  she  had  stopped  and  was  settling.  Then 
he  saw  a  black  spindle  rise  beside  her,  curve  grace 
fully  in  the  air,  and  dive  into  the  sea. 

"Down  we  go,"  he  said,  giving  the  order  to  refill 
241 


Land   Ho! 

the    tanks.     "She's    being    torpedoed.     Something 
else  is  down  there." 

The  round  craft  soon  disappeared,  periscope  and 
all,  and  not  knowing  her  fate,  and  not  caring  to 
approach  too  close  to  danger  in  his  "half-and-half" 
condition,  Ross  stopped  his  engine  until  his  boat  was 
under  control  of  the  diving-rudder,  and  watched  the 
spot  for  some  sign  of  the  mystery  beneath.  Soon  he 
was  rewarded.  Not  a  hundred  yards  away  on  the 
starboard  bow  a  black,  curving  hull  with  a  short 
superstructure  -  deck  and  dome -shaped  conning- 
tower,  rose  from  the  depths  to  show  for  a  few  sec 
onds,  then,  porpoise-like,  dived  out  of  sight.  But  in 
those  few  seconds  there  could  be  seen  a  name  in 
white  letters  on  the  slanting  side  of  the  super 
structure. 

Then,  out  of  the  eddies  left  by  the  diving-craft, 
arose  a  fan -shaped  stream  of  water,  and  following 
it  what  seemed  to  be  the  broad  nose  of  a  huge,  shovel- 
nosed  shark,  until,  with  the  shutting  off  of  the  fan- 
shaped  jet  and  the  rising  into  sight  of  a  familiar 
conning-tower,  it  resolved  into  the  circular,  knife- 
edge  hull  of  their  preserver.  As  the  leading  edge 
dipped  beneath  the  surface  the  opposite  edge  arose, 
and  now  from  this  edge  came  the  fan  of  water,  a 
powerful  stream  that  slanted  upward  for  fifty  feet 
before  it  shattered  into  a  deluge  of  falling  drops. 
Then  the  hull  disappeared,  and  the  fan  became  an 
uplifting  mound  that  in  a  moment  gave  way  to  the 
eddies. 

242 


The    Submarine    Destroyer 

"  Down  we  go,"  said  Ross,  excitedly,  as  the  engine- 
room  called  that  tanks  were  full.  He  ground  down 
the  diving-wheel  and  whirled  the  steering-wheel  to 
port.  "That's  his  motive  power — a  horizontal  jet 
from  the  circular  edge  and  a  centrifugal  pump. 
Remember — he  spoke  of  it?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  ensign,  "and  that  fellow  he's 
chasing — that's  the — " 

"The  Fulton — I  saw  her  name  plainly — the  old, 
obsolete,  little  Fulton,  with  her  one  tube  and  seven 
knots." 

"  But  she's  a  diver — she  can  stand  on  her  head  and 
tail.  She's  dangerous  to  that  fellow." 

"And  that's  what  the  message  meant.  The  Japs 
captured  her  years  ago  and  have  resurrected  her. 
They  must  have  known  of  this  new  craft." 

At  full  speed  the  Vacquero  quickly  went  under, 
and  after  a  few  circles  Ross  picked  up  the  com 
batants  with  the  search-light — the  big,  round  des 
troyer  poised  about  thirty  feet  down,  canted  at  an 
angle  of  forty-five  degrees,  but  motionless  except 
for  a  slow,  upward  drift;  and  far  down,  and  in  a 
direction  indicated  by  that  canted  edge,  the  Fulton, 
a  short,  stumpy  shape  in  the  dim  glow  of  Ross's 
light,  turning  in  a  wide  circle  to  head  back  and  up 
ward  at  the  quiescent  enemy,  at  which  her  own  small 
pencil  of  search -light  was  directed. 

"Something's  wrong  with  him,"  said  the  ensign, 
as  the  Fulton  bravely  charged  upward.  Ross  looked 
at  the  round  craft ;  the  knifelike  girdle  had  assumed 
17  243 


Land   Ho! 

a  horizontal  position,  while  the  hull  as  a  whole  went 
steadily  upward. 

"He's  helpless,"  he  exclaimed.  "We  must  stop 
the  Fulton — both  starboard  torpedoes."  He  threw 
the  diving-wheel  hard  down  and  rang  full  speed  to 
the  engine-room. 

Torpedoes  are  gauged  to  find  and  maintain  a  fixed 
depth — usually  twenty  feet,  no  matter  what  their 
submergence  when  fired.  The  latter-day  submer- 
sibles  were  not  designed  to  withstand  more  than  two 
atmospheres  of  pressure.  The  early  submarines 
could  bear  ten.  It  was  a  dangerous  experiment  that 
Ross  essayed — to  dive  into  the  depths  and  torpedo  a 
craft  able  to  dive  deeper — to  hit  her  with  a  self- 
propelling  missile  whose  immediate  tendency  was  to 
deflect  itself  upward.  But  he  felt  that  something 
was  required  of  him,  if  not  due  him,  to  offset  the 
work  of  that  wonderful  boat  and  her  commander, 
and,  with  the  plates  of  his  craft  creaking  like  barrel 
staves,  he  steered  down  on  a  path  almost  parallel  to 
that  upward  pencil  of  light.  The  Fulton  came  on, 
her  bow  port  lifted  to  the  semblance  of  an  angry 
upper  lip,  her  futile  little  search-light  still  held  on  her 
enemy ;  but  at  the  psychological  moment,  when  she 
was  slightly  ahead,  slightly  above,  and  a  hundred 
feet  away,  Ross  pushed  a  button.  There  was  a 
cough  and  a  thud,  and  a  torpedo  went  its  way.  He 
pressed  again,  and  a  second  convulsion  marked  the 
going  out  of  another.  Then  he  ground  the  diving- 
wheel  hard  up,  and  the  straining,  groaning  Vacquero 

244 


The   Submarine    Destroyer 

answered  it,  shooting  up  to  safety  on  an  incline 
steeper  than  that  of  her  descent.  But  her  search 
light  now  played  on  the  inert  craft  above. 

For,  just  before  he  had  fired,  a  short  torpedo  had 
shot  out  from  under  the  angry  upper  lip  and  was 
travelling  upward  on  a  long  line-of-beauty.  Ross 
shortened  the  focus  and  included  it  in  his  light, 
watching  it  with  what  attention  he  could  spare  from 
his  own  boat.  He  saw  it  curve  upward,  almost 
beneath  the  round  hull,  then  assume  a  straight  line 
directly  towards  its  centre,  then  reverse  its  curv 
ing  path,  and  he  knew  that  the  danger  was  past— 
that  the  line-of-beauty  would  become  a  horizontal 
straight  line  beneath  and  away  from  its  target. 
Then  there  was  a  convulsion  of  the  sea,  a  dull  report 
from  beneath,  a  physical  shock,  then  a  second  con 
vulsion,  report,  and  shock,  and  the  Vacquero,  rock 
ing  like  a  row-boat  in  a  tideway,  lifted  a  quarter  of 
her  length  out  of  the  water,  and  sank  to  an  equi 
librium.  And  Ross,  trembling  from  reaction,  knew 
that  far  down  in  the  depths  the  little,  obsolete 
Fulton,  struck  by  two  torpedoes,  was  rolling  to  the 
bottom. 

He  emptied  his  tanks,  and,  when  his  deck  was  clear 
of  water,  headed  back  for  the  strange  craft,  now  on 
the  surface,  with  her  young  commander's  face  again 
rising  out  of  the  conning  -  tower  hatch.  But  it  did 
not  look  so  young  as  before,  though  the  fine  teeth 
were  more  in  evidence  than  ever.  The  lips  grinned, 
rather  than  smiled,  and  the  eyes  were  a  little  sunken. 

245 


Land   Ho! 

Ross,  somewhat  haggard  himself,  stepped  out  and 
hailed  him. 

"We  are  deeply  indebted  to  you,  sir,"  he  said. 

"  Hello,  lieutenant.  Same  here.  That  little  devil 
might  have  done  for  me.  How  d'  you  feel,  now  that 
it's  over.'* 

"Shaky." 

"Same  here.     What  made  you  run ?" 

"  Damaged  diving  -  gear.  What's  wrong  with 
you?" 

"  Same  thing  that  kept  me  back  at  the  first  of  it. 
Say,  lieutenant." 

"Well." 

"  Your  damned  old  oil's  no  good." 


The    Dancer 


QOME WHERE  in  the  world  was  a  niche  for  him, 
O  where  his  love  of  the  beautiful  —  his  sensitive 
appreciation  of  the  artistic,  of  the  harmony  of  color, 
sound,  and  motion — could  be  turned  into  a  hand 
some  income ;  but  at  the  age  of  twenty  John  Hardy 
had  not  found  it.  A  soul-fettering  indolence,  shaken 
off  while  going  through  college,  had  returned  to  him 
at  matriculation,  because  at  this  time  the  only 
influence  which  had  ever  dominated  it — fear  of  an 
iron-willed  father  —  was  removed.  The  father,  a 
banker  in  a  small,  up-state  village,  had  died  penni 
less,  and,  as  he  had  no  other  relatives,  young  Hardy 
had  come  to  San  Francisco  to  face  the  world  alone. 
Beyond  love  of  a  good  cigar  he  had  no  embarrass 
ing  vices,  and  but  few  notions  of  class  distinction; 
yet  he  could  not  get  employment  with  the  effort  he 
thought  sufficient,  and  at  this  stage  of  his  quest  was 
reminded  of  an  estimate  placed  upon  him  by  a  young 
sailor  of  the  navy  whom  he  had  met  two  years  before 
in  his  native  town.  McClure  was  a  powerfully 
built,  shrewd  -  faced  boy  of  his  own  age,  who  had 

247 


Land    Ho! 

attracted  his  attention  by  the  ease  with  which  he 
thrashed  three  village  loafers  for  making  unkind 
strictures  on  his  uniform,  and,  later,  had  won  his 
regard  by  his  practical,  worldly  wise  philosophy  and 
correctness  of  diction.  Though  McClure  told  him 
nothing  of  himself  except  that  he  was  visiting  rel 
atives  on  two  weeks'  liberty,  he  yet  seemed  strongly 
interested  in  Hardy,  his  college  education,  and  his 
chances  in  life — which  latter,  he  averred,  were  not 
very  good. 

"When  you  get  your  diploma,"  he  said,  "you'll 
find  it  the  least  of  your  assets.  What  you'll  need 
most  is  a  term  in  the  service.  Why,  it  '11  make  a 
man  out  of  a  weakling." 

The  ambiguous  speech  was  lost  upon  Hardy  at  the 
time,  but  he  divined  its  meaning  now.  He  had  done 
nothing  to  prove  that  he  was  not  a  weakling,  and  if 
he  was  one,  McClure  had  known  it  from  the  first.  If 
this  was  so  he  needed  a  post-graduate  course  in  char 
acter,  and  if  the  navy  was  the  only  school,  the  sooner 
he  began  the  better.  He  would  get  employment  as 
well  as  tutelage. 

It  was  the  arrival  of  McClure 's  ship  in  port  that 
had  brought  the  matter  to  his  mind.  He  had  read 
in  the  papers  that,  short  of  coal  after  her  long  run 
across  the  Pacific,  she  had  anchored  off  the  city  to 
partly  replenish  her  bunkers  before  steaming  up  to 
Mare  Island.  And,  on  the  mere  chance  that  his 
friend  was  still  on  board  of  her,  he  went  out  in  a 
shore  boat,  climbed  the  gangway,  and  asked  for  him. 

248 


The   Dancer 

A  leather-lunged  boatswain's  mate  bawled  the  name, 
and  after  an  interval  McClure  appeared,  rubbing  his 
eyes.  Hardy  was  further  demoralized  by  the  wel 
come  he  received.  McClure,  dressed  in  neat  blue 
•  .nd  visiting  relatives,  was  a  genial  enough  friend  and 
adviser,  but,  roused  from  a  nap  on  the  dusty  deck 
after  a  hard  spell  at  coaling  ship,  he  was  an  unkempt 
and  unkind  critic  of  all  the  world,  begrimed  and  bad- 
tempered — hardly  recognizable  in  his  soiled  working 
ducks.  He  listened  with  weary  air  to  Hardy's  story 
of  trouble. 

"And  what  do  you  want,"  he  asked,  sourly — "to 
ship  in  the  navy?  Why,  you'll  die." 

"But,"  faltered  Hardy,  "can't  I  develop?  Don't 
I  need  something  like  this?" 

"  No,  you  need  a  mother.  You  go  back  to  that 
town  and  grow  up  with  it,  and  when  you  can  whale 
every  loafer  and  rowdy  in  it — every  fireman  and 
constable — you'll  have  a  chance  for  your  life  in  the 
navy." 

"Why— how— " 

"Why --how,"  repeated  McClure,  scornfully. 
"Johnny,  you're  a  college  graduate,  but  a  milksop, 
nevertheless.  I  don't  mean  that  you  can't  develop, 
but  the  navy  is  too  hard.  You  can't  ship  here ;  you'd 
have  to  go  up  to  the  receiving-ship.  And  if  you  did 
you'd  find  five  hundred  helyons  with  nothing  to  do 
but  to  devil  you.  You'd  be  a  drivelling  idiot  in  a 
month." 

"But  didn't  it  develop  you?" 
249 


Land   Ho! 

McClure  hesitated  a  moment,  then  said:  "The 
navy  refined  me.  There  wasn't  a  tougher  kid  in  the 
training-ship  than  I  was  when  I  shipped.  I  could 
handle  my  fists,  and  knew  the  record  of  every 
slugger  in  the  land.  I  ran  away  from  a  step-mother 
—but  she  was  not  so  bad ;  it  was  myself.  We  made 
friends  lately.  She  was  on  from  the  East,  visiting 
your  town  when  I  was  there." 

Hardy  remembered  seeing  this  visitor — a  stern- 
faced,  elderly  woman,  with  the  figure  and  gait  of  a 
strong,  young  girl  —  in  McClure's  company,  and 
mentioned  it. 

"  That  was  her,"  said  the  sailor ;  "  and  what  do  you 
think  she  said  when  you  passed  us  one  time  ?  She 
said,  'What  a  nice  boy!"; 

"Well,  what  of  it?"  answered  Hardy,  irritably. 

"  Nothing,  for  that's  just  what  you  are — a  nice  boy. 
You  belong  home  for  ten  years  yet.  Say — hold  on. 
Take  something  with  you,  for  my  step-mother." 

Hardy,  who  had  turned  away,  halted,  and  McClure 
rushed  into  the  superstructure,  returning  with  a 
sealed  packet.  "  It's  her  picture,  not  mine,"  he  said, 
as  he  handed  it  to  Hardy;  "and  she  wants  it,  but  I 
don't  like  to  mail  it,  and  won't  get  liberty  for  a  week. 
So  you  take  it  up  to  her.  You  know  her  name — • 
Mrs.  Berry  McClure — and  where  we  stop  in  that  town. 
If  she  is  back  East  the  folks  can  mail  it.  Tell  'em 
I'll  be  up  soon.  Now,  over  the  side  with  you. 
You've  stayed  too  long,  and  this  is  our  busy  day. 
Here  comes  the  first  luff.  Over  with  you." 

250 


The   Dancer 

With  not  a  word  of  good-bye  he  urged  Hardy  to  the 
gangway  and  went  back  to  his  nap,  or  his  work. 
Hurt  by  his  high-handed  disposal  of  the  case,  Hardy 
descended  to  the  waiting  boat  and  was  pulled  shore 
ward  by  the  boatman  he  had  employed  —  an  indi 
vidual  with  a  keen  eye  for  the  beautiful  in  war-ship 
construction — who  gazed  raptly  as  he  rowed  at  the 
craft  they  were  leaving.  Hardy,  having  pocketed 
the  picture,  sat  with  head  bowed,  thinking  about  his 
friend's  change  of  front ;  then,  feeling  qualmish  from 
the  motion  of  the  boat,  lowered  his  face  in  his  hands, 
with  his  elbows  on  his  knees.  The  boatman,  loath  to 
lose  the  charming  picture  which  so  appealed  to  him, 
stopped  rowing  while  details  of  the  cruiser  were  yet 
visible,  and  commented  on  them.  But  Hardy  an 
swered  not ;  he  was  too  miserable,  of  mind  and  body 
—seeing  which,  the  boatman,  having  rested,  bent  to 
his  oars  with  doubled  energy,  and  the  boat  shot 
ahead.  Then  there  came  a  startled  yell  from  star 
board:  "Where  the  h — 1  you  goin'?  Back  water. 
Oh,  you  poor,  unfortunate  fools!  Look  at  you 
now." 

A  shadow  darkened  the  air;  there  was  a  rush  of 
water  and  a  humming  of  wind ;  then,  almost  before 
they  had  looked  to  see,  the  chain  bobstay  of  a  small 
schooner  struck  the  boat,  partly  overturned  and 
swamped  it,  pushed  it  aside  with  her  bow  wave,  and 
went  on,  leaving  the  boatman  waist  -  deep  on  the 
thwart,  with  one  oar  still  in  his  hand,  and  carrying 
Hardy  perched  on  two  horizontal  wire-ropes  which 

251 


Land   Hoi 

he  afterwards  learned  were  the  jib  guys.  With  no 
time  to  think,  he  had  obeyed  a  primordial  instinct 
and  leaped  upward. 

The  man  who  had  shouted  assisted  him  on  board, 
then,  berating  him  the  while,  led  him  aft  to  where 
another  man  at  the  tiller  was  exchanging  parting, 
and  very  profane,  compliments  with  the  disappear 
ing  boatman.  He  was  grizzled  and  brown,  with  an 
honest,  humorous  face,  and  he  laughed  at  the 
frightened  Hardy. 

"And  I  s'pose,"  he  said,  bluntly,  "that  you  want 
me  to  put  back  and  land  you  at  the  dock.  Well,  I'll 
be  d  —  d  if  I  do ;  nor  will  I  waste  time  putt  in'  you 
aboard  any  other  craft.  I'm  in  a  hurry  this  trip,  and 
a  man  short.  You'll  do.  And  as  for  your  chum 
back  yonder — he's  got  one  oar  and  can  get  ashore. 
T'h— 1  with  him." 

It  was  a  long  trip  that  Hardy  made  in  that  little 
schooner — far  to  the  south  and  close  to  the  coast, 
where  the  alternate  warmth  and  chill  of  the  land  and 
sea  breeze,  and  an  occasional  squall,  made  necessary 
much  doffing  and  donning  of  his  one  coat.  He  was 
not  ill-treated,  but  it  was  expected  of  him  that  he 
work;  and  in  the  utter  strangeness  of  his  new  sen 
sations  he  forgot  the  photograph  given  him  by  Mc- 
Clure  until,  one  clay,  it  fell  out  of  the  inside-pocket 
where  he  had  placed  it,  with  its  string  and  wrapping 
worn  away  from  the  damp  friction  of  the  cloth.  He 
looked  at  the  picture.  It  was  stained  and  faded, 
with  softened  edges,  but  the  face  was  distinct.  It 

252 


The    Dancer 

was  that  of  a  young  girl  between  childhood  and 
womanhood — a  face  of  rare  beauty,  with  delicately 
moulded  features,  and  large  eyes  upturned  in  the 
posing,  framed  and  crowned  by  a  wealth  of  wavy 
hair.  At  first  glance  he  detected  in  certain  features 
a  faint  resemblance  to  those  of  Mrs.  McClure  as  he 
remembered  her;  but  this  impression  faded  before 
the  fascinating  beauty  of  the  face  as  a  whole.  And 
the  fascination  grew  upon  him  as  he  looked,  until  it 
seemed  to  him  a  revelation  of  divinity. 

His  was  the  artistic  temperament,  and  he  was  yet 
in  the  formative  stage.  He  was  far  from  his  past 
environment  and  the  conventions  which  had  govern 
ed  his  life.  The  beautiful  face  in  the  picture  spoke 
to  his  soul ;  and  it  was,  perhaps,  the  one  influence  in 
the  world  to  inspire  in  him  the  highest  ideals  and 
arouse  him  to  the  highest  effort. 

There  was  nothing  on  the  faded  card-board  to  in 
dicate  its  age  or  identity.  The  photographer's  name 
on  the  lower  edge  was  worn  away. 

"What  a  beauty  she  was  when  young!"  he  sighed. 
"She  must  have  been  young — very  young  when  it 
was  taken,  long  before  I  was  born." 

He  put  the  picture  away,  with  emotion  new  and 
strange  to  him ;  but  at  every  opportune  moment  he 
would  bring  it  forth  and  study  it.  And  while  he 
retained  the  memory  of  the  pure,  beautiful  face- 
through  all  the  years  of  stress  and  strain  and  strug 
gle  that  followed  —  it  kept  him  clean-minded  and 
high-minded.  It  made  him  a  man. 

253 


Land    Ho! 

But  a  one-idea  man  as  nature  had  intended.     He 
never  saw  two  things  at  once. 


II 

On  the  little  schooner's  return  to  San  Francisco, 
her  good  -  natured  old  skipper  paid  Hardy  some 
money  for  his  time  and  services,  declaring  at  the 
same  time,  however,  that  he  was  of  no  more  use  than 
a  spare  pump,  and  threatening  all  manner  of  physical 
and  legal  reprisal  should  Hardy  dare  to  bring  the 
matter  of  his  enforced  cruise  into  court.  But  the 
young  fellow  was  but  too  glad  to  get  ashore,  and, 
once  there,  hastened  dutifully  to  his  boyhood  home 
to  fulfil  his  trust.  But  neither  Mrs.  McClure  nor 
the  family  whom  she  had  visited  were  now  in  the 
town,  and,  not  regretting  an  extension  of  his  lien  on 
the  picture,  he  returned  to  the  big  city  and  hung  the 
picture  on  the  wall  of  his  room.  Then,  steadied  and 
strengthened  by  his  two  months  of  out-door  life  and 
labor,  and  fortified  by  his  new  inspiration,  he  resumed 
the  quest  for  work  with  better  courage. 

But  as  the  fruitless  weeks  rolled  on  this  courage 
nearly  died;  and,  stubbornly  resolved  to  bind  him 
self  to  no  employment  that  would  lessen  the  influence 
of  the  picture,  he  might  have  failed  of  even  a  foot 
hold  had  it  not  been  for  his  possession  of  an  attribute 
which,  though  not  mentioned  by  maxim  writers  as 
an  aid  to  success,  is  yet  earnestly  desired  by  many 

254 


The   Dancer 

who  do  succeed,  and,  properly  applied,  is  a  source  of 
profit.  In  Hardy's  case  it  not  only  gave  him  a 
living,  but  led  him  into  a  profession  for  which  he  was, 
by  nature  and  training,  eminently  fitted. 

He  had  been  a  college  athlete;  he  was  tall  and 
straight,  with  an  unusual  chest  development,  and 
around  the  framework  of  his  body  the  muscles  and 
sinews  had  arranged  themselves  into  a  series  of 
knobs,  ridges,  and  criss-cross  lines  that  made  him  a 
delightful  spectacle  to  an  anatomist.  With  his 
regular  features,  arching  eyebrows,  and  rather  sor 
rowful  dark  eyes,  he  was  that  very  rare  man  that 
looks  well  in  a  bathing-suit ;  and  one  day,  while  bath 
ing  at  Alameda  Beach,  before  his  money  was  quite 
too  far  gone  for  such  luxuries,  he  was  annoyed  by  the 
persistent  staring  and  hovering  about  of  a  fellow- 
bather,  who,  with  serious,  bearded,  intellectual  face, 
might  have  seemed  above  such  offensiveness.  He 
left  the  water  when  Hardy  did,  and  later,  both 
clothed,  they  met  on  the  beach. 

"You  will  pardon  me,  sir,"  said  the  stranger,  "but 
I  noticed  your  physique  when  we  were  in  the  water." 

"I  was  aware  of  it,"  answered  Hardy,  shortly. 

"  I  meant  no  offence,  I  assure  you ;  but — I  am  a 
sculptor,  with  an  eye  for  lines  and  curves.  I  never 
saw  such  superb  development.  How  did  you  get  it, 
may  I  ask?" 

"Football,  baseball,  and  —  not  work  —  looking 
for  it,"  said  Hardy,  bitterly.  "Tramping  the  street 
and  climbing  stairs." 

255 


Land   Ho ! 

"Are  you  looking  for  work?'*  asked  the  other, 
eagerly.  "  I  can  give  you  posing,  and  can  get  you 
more.  I  am  doing  a  gladiator  in  stone,  and  can  use 
you  for  a  month  at  least." 

"I'm  your  man,"  said  Hardy,  promptly. 

He  posed  for  the  artist,  who,  in  his  excess  of  ad 
miration,  could  not  conceal  the  secret  of  his  find. 
Other  men  came  to  his  studio  to  inspect  the  marvel, 
and  Hardy  became  a  professional  model — soon  the 
busiest  and  highest-priced  in  the  city.  And  before 
the  careless  life  of  the  studios  had  lessened  his  single- 
mindedness,  he  had  astonished  an  employer  by  the 
facility  with  which  he  dashed  off  a  charcoal  sketch 
while  resting  between  poses.  It  was  a  bit  of  old 
ocean — the  peculiar  uplift  of  a  cross-sea  with  the 
wind  going  down — that  had  pictured  itself  on  his 
mind  through  many  repetitions  of  the  view  on  the 
trip  to  the  southward. 

"Where  did  you  get  the  idea?"  asked  the  artist. 

"  Been  there.     Went  down  the  coast  lately." 

"And  had  you  studied  art?" 

"Drawing  at  school.     I  was  good  at  it." 

"Did  you  follow  it  up?  Have  you  tried  to  de 
velop  it?" 

"No,  only  to  amuse  myself — like  this." 

"Then  you  are  a  wonder.  Try  something  else. 
Draw  an  old  sailor,  a  ship,  anything  nautical.  Try 
a  pretty  woman.  Let  me  know  your  limitations." 

Hardy  had  learned  a  little  of  nautical  technique 
on  his  trip.  He  knew  a  bark  from  a  ship  or  schooner 

256 


The    Dancer 

—a  sloop  from  a  cat-boat.  He  returned  to  the 
artist  with  several  sketches  of  different  sailing-craft, 
three  or  four  of  his  picturesque  captors,  and  one,  a 
labor  of  love,  of  a  beautiful  face  crowned  by  wavy 
hair — a  crude  copy  of  his  picture.  The  artist  in 
spected  them  critically. 

"Faulty,  all  of  them,"  he  said;  "but,  of  course, 
that's  to  be  expected.  The  wonder  is  that  you  have 
the  spirit  of  it,  which  is  sufficient.  But  where'd  you 
get  this  face?  A  relative  or  friend?" 

"No,"  said  Hardy,  nervously,  "a  copy." 

The  artist  studied  the  drawing  a  moment,  then 
said,  "Let's  see." 

He  overturned  a  pile  of  portfolios  in  a  corner, 
delved  among  their  contents,  and  brought  forth  a 
large  photograph — a  life-size  bromide  enlargement. 
"That  the  same?"  he  asked,  showing  it  to  Hardy. 

He  stared,  open-eyed  and  open-mouthed.  It  was 
the  face  of  his  divinity,  older,  more  womanly,  but 
with  the  same  upturned  eyes,  the  same  wonderful 
wealth  of  hair. 

"Do  you  know  her?"  he  stammered.  "It's  the 
same  face,  but  older.  Did  you  ever  see  her?" 

"No,"  said  the  artist.  "This  is  merely  an  adver 
tisement  of  the  particular  kind  of  paper  used  in  the 
reproduction"  -  he  pointed  to  some  white  lettering 
in  a  corner — "but  it's  an  ideal  face,  and  would  make 
the  reputation  of  any  artist  who  could  create  it  with 
pencil  or  crayon.  I  forget  where  I  picked  it  up." 

"But  the  original — is  she  alive?     Or,  rather — I 

2*7 


Land   Ho! 

mean — is  she  young.  I  thought  she  was  an  old 
woman." 

"No,"  said  the  artist,  glancing  at  his  face.  "I 
think  I  remember — in  fact,  I  know — that  I've  seen 
other  poses  of  this  same  face  in  New  York  last  year. 
Some  famous  beauty  back  East,  no  doubt,  but  far 
from  being  an  old  woman." 

"You  think  she's  young  yet?" 

"Of  course.  This  picture  can't  be  over  two  or 
three  years  old.  They  don't  use  back  numbers  in 
these  ads.  Beauty  is  too  common." 

Hardy  was  silent  while  he  stared  at  the  face. 

"A  beautiful  face,"  went  on  the  artist,  "but 
beauty  is  common.  Your  forte  is  virility  and  action. 
Hardy,  there  are  few  artists  in  town  with  the 
technique  of  the  sea,  and  there  is  a  demand.  Drive 
in.  Go  ahead  on  pen  and  ink.  Catch  on  to  the 
commercial  end  of  it,  and  get  the  rest  afterwards. 
Draw  ships  and  sailors  and  storms." 

Hardy  went  home,  and,  locked  in  his  room,  spent 
the  following  night  in  searching  self -analysis.  Tow 
ards  morning  his  relation  to  this  picture  reduced  it 
self  to  a  problem  demanding  solution.  An  ideal  face 
from  a  dead  and  vanished  past  was  one  thing;  the 
living,  breathing  original  was  another.  The  one  was 
a  dream,  a  promise — an  expression  of  the  unuttered 
things  that  dumb  men  yearn  and  hope  for ;  the  other 
the  fulfilment — a  woman  to  seek  and  know  and  love. 
McClure  or  his  step-mother  could  solve  the  problem. 

But  McClure  and  his  step-mother  were  out  of  his 


The   Dancer 

reach;  and  when  reached,  and  the  problem  solved, 
what  then?  What  particular  rights  had  he  in  the 
solution  of  the  problem — he,  a  nice  boy,  a  milksop, 
and  a  failure  ?  He  supplied  himself  with  materials, 
engaged  a  small  studio,  and  went  to  work. 

He  did  not  relinquish  the  posing  that  gave  him  a 
livelihood ;  but  he  so  compacted  his  appointments  as 
to  secure  three  hours  a  day  for  himself.  On  the 
wall  facing  his  chair  he  placed  the  picture,  the  only 
ornament  of  the  room,  and,  helped  by  its  influence 
and  the  criticism  of  his  artist  friends,  he  slowly 
mastered  the  essentials  of  his  new  venture.  But  it 
was  a  year  before  he  produced  a  piece  of  work  just 
good  enough  for  publication  in  a  weekly  and  six 
months  later  when  the  next  appeared.  Then  he 
received  letters,  and  became  the  object  of  inquiry,  to 
the  result  that  he  gave  up  posing  to  attend  to  orders. 

Three  hours  a  day  at  creative  work  is  tax  enough 
upon  the  average  brain.  Hardy  now  devoted  six, 
seven,  and  eight,  and  discouraged  all  distracting 
visits  of  friends.  Alone  with  his  soul  and  his  soul's 
delight,  he  walked  the  floor,  worked  and  smoked, 
until  tired ;  then  smoked  and  looked — at  the  picture 
on  the  wall — until  rested,  when  he  would  pick  up 
his  brushes  and  resume.  In  these  moments  of 
resting  and  walking  his  mind  went  East,  roaming 
and  searching  the  cities  of  the  Atlantic  seaboard. 
One  of  them  might  hold  her — the  woman  he  worked 
for.  Which  one,  he  would  know,  when  there  was 
money  enough. 

18 


Land   Ho! 

At  the  end  of  the  second  year  of  work,  with  his 
sensitive  mouth  twitching  from  nervous  strain,  a 
fixed  pucker  growing  between  his  eyebrows,  and 
his  luminous,  dark  eyes  alight  with  an  ever-ready, 
startled  expression,  he  presented  a  spectacle  that 
spurred  certain  editors,  anxious  about  their  circu 
lation — and,  incidentally,  his  health — to  action.  One 
day  a  strong,  masterful  man  forced  his  way  into 
the  little  studio  and  found  him  walking  around  in 
a  circle.  He  was  a  physician,  he  said — a  friend  of 
a  friend — and  was  interested  enough  in  Hardy's 
work  to  call  on  him.  But  he  talked  no  more  of  his 
work  than  was  necessary. 

''Why  are  you  walking  the  floor?"  he  asked,  at 
length. 

"Just  a  habit,"  stammered  Hardy.  "I  acquired 
it  at  sea.  I  think  best  on  my  feet." 

"Drinking  man?" 

"No,  total  abstainer." 

"Coffee,  tea,  tobacco?     Do  you  overindulge?" 

"Don't  think  so." 

"Love  affair?"  The  doctor  glanced  at  the  pict 
ure  on  the  wall. 

"  No,"  said  Hardy,  following  his  glance.  " That's 
merely  an  ideal  head." 

The  doctor  smiled.  "  I'll  give  you  two  months 
more  of  this,"  he  said,  "to  wind  up  in  a  padded  cell. 
You  don't  want  medicine,  nor  a  vacation  in  the 
ordinary  sense.  You  want  variety,  and  less  smoke. 
Burn  up  these  brushes  and  pencils.  Turn  that  pict- 

260 


The   Dancer 

ure  to  the  wall,  or  hide  it.  Walk  the  streets,  go  to 
the  theatre,  eat,  drink,  talk,  and  walk  for  a  while. 
Spend  money  like  a  foolish  fellow-man,  and  get 
something  else  to  think  about.  Get  that  girl  out 
of  your  head." 

"  Do  you  know  her?"  asked  Hardy,  eagerly,  point 
ing  at  the  picture. 

"Of  course  I  do,"  answered  the  doctor,  in  a  tone 
that  betrayed  his  real  ignorance  of  the  lady.  "  She's 
the  only  girl  on  earth;  but — get  rid  of  her,  or  she'll 
kill  you." 

Hardy  obeyed  all  his  instructions  but  the  last; 
for,  before  finally  locking  his  studio  door,  he  loving 
ly  tinted  the  eyes,  cheeks,  and  hair  of  his  divinity 
in  the  colors  that  he,  somehow,  felt  that  they  ought 
to  wear,  filled  in  the  stained  and  faded  background, 
trimmed  the  edges,  and  gave  the  picture  to  a  frame- 
maker  for  a  setting  he  thought  worthy  of  it;  then, 
while  waiting  for  its  completion,  when  he  would 
take  it  with  him  to  the  far-away  metropolis,  he 
gave  himself  up  to  the  first  relaxation  he  had  known 
since  his  battle  began.  This  included  nightly  visits 
to  the  playhouses;  and  one  evening,  when  he  had 
received  the  framed  picture  in  person,  too  late  to 
take  home,  he  brought  it  with  him  to  a  restaurant 
dinner,  and  then  to  a  theatrical  performance  differ 
ent  from  what  he  had  seen  before. 

All  seats  being  sold,  he  lounged,  standing,  over 
the  backs  of  the  rear  chairs.  The  performance  had 
begun ;  a  dance  by  the  whole  company  was  in  prog- 


Land   Ho ! 

ress,  and  to  render  more  shadowy  and  illusive  the 
shifting  flecks  of  color  in  the  dancers'  costumes,  the 
light  was  toned  down  to  a  dim  red  glow  from  a 
hidden  source.  The  music  was  of  the  quick,  blood- 
stirring  kind — the  dancing  by  experts  of  the  pro 
fession.  Their  costumes  were  modest,  their  move 
ments  graceful  and  restrained.  There  was  nothing 
in  the  brilliant  spectacle  of  color  and  light  to  arouse 
more  than  mild  interest  in  the  ordinary  on-looker; 
but  John  Hardy  was  not  ordinary.  Nor  was  he 
experienced  in  sensations.  His  mental  fatigue  and 
the  uplifting  influence  of  the  picture,  framed  and  en 
folded  in  his  hand,  were  forgotten  in  the  presence 
of  the  picture  on  the  stage.  Yet  it  was  not  the 
spectacle  as  a  whole  that  most  strongly  appealed  to 
him. 

"Just  look  at  that  little  thing  to  the  right,"  he 
had  heard  a  lady  in  front  of  him  say  to  her  escort. 
"Just  look  at  her— the  little  thing  to  the  right." 
And  it  was  on  this  dancer  that  his  eyes  were  fixed. 

She  was  one  of  two  that  were  placed  in  front, 
flanking  the  star  of  the  chorus.  They  were  all  cos 
tumed  alike,  and  the  movements  of  their  hands  and 
feet  in  time  and  direction  were  similar;  but  here 
comparison  ended.  The  "little  thing  to  the  right" 
danced  as  though  her  soul  was  alive  with  the  joy 
of  it,  bowing,  bending,  waving  her  arms  in  all  the 
graceful  and  charming  abandon  of  a  happy  child. 
Having  seen,  Hardy  watched  like  one  entranced, 
until,  glutted  with  sensuous  intoxication,  he  sought 

262 


The   Dancer 

the  competition  of  variety,  and  looked  for  it  in  the 
others — in  vain,  for  his  eye  returned  to  the  girl  on 
the  right  and  remained  until  the  end.  Then  he  en 
thusiastically  applauded. 

"Isn't  it  glorious,"  he  gasped  to  a  man  standing 
next  to  him — man  whom  he  felt,  rather  than  saw, 
had  been  watching  him.  "The  one  to  the  right." 

"Ya-a-as,"  drawled  the  other;  "and  how's  the 
battle  of  life?" 

Hardy  looked  squarely  at  his  half-averted  face, 
remarking  first  the  immaculate  evening  dress  of 
the  man,  next  an  unfamiliar  mustache,  then  the 
well-remembered  profile  and  shrewd  smile. 

"McClure!"  he  exclaimed.     "Is  this  you?" 

"Shouldn't  wonder,"  he  answered,  slowly,  as  he 
turned  and  took  Hardy's  extended  hand.  "And 
how  is  the  battle  ?  Are  you  the  town  terror  yet,  or 
did  they  bring  you  up  in  your  mad  career?" 

"Are  you  still  thinking  of  that?"  asked  Hardy, 
the  friendly  smile  on  his  face  dying  away. 

"Why,  of  course,"  drawled  McClure,  "and  I've 
been  thinking  of  you  ever  since  the  show  opened. 
Curious,  isn't  it?" 

"Not  so  very,"  said  Hardy,  dryly,  "insomuch  as 
I've  been  thinking  of  you  pretty  steadily  for  two 
years.  I  admit  your  manner  at  our  last  meeting 
had  a  powerful  effect  upon  me,  but — isn't  it  about 
time  you  dropped  it?" 

"Why,  how  is  that?"  returned  McClure,  with  the 
same  aggravating  drawl  and  patronizing  smile. 

263 


Land   Ho ! 

"My  manner  affected  you?  That  is  really  wonder 
ful.  Tell  me." 

"Not  here,"  said  Hardy,  struggling  between  re 
sentment  and  a  natural  desire  to  confide  in  McClure 
and  learn  about  the  picture's  original.  "I  want 
you  to  tell  me  about  this" — he  held  up  the  package 
in  his  hand — "it's  a  serious  matter  with  me." 

"What  is  it?  A  serious  matter?  Follow  me," 
said  McClure,  tragically.  He  led  the  way  to  the 
entrance,  and  Hardy,  with  a  glance  at  the  stage 
and  a  mental  resolve  to  see  the  performance  again, 
followed  him  to  the  street  and  into  a  near-by  cafe, 
where  he  seated  himself  abreast  of  McClure  at  a 
table.  Not  since  his  last  meeting  with  him  had 
he  been  subjected  to  such  domineering  insolence 
from  a  human  being;  but,  realizing  that  it  came 
from  McClure 's  early  estimate  of  him,  his  only 
thought  was  to  overcome  it  tranquilly  and  logically 
—a  difficult  feat  in  his  present  overwrought  and 
nervous  condition.  Declining  the  drink  which 
McClure  suggested,  but  accepting  a  cigar,  he  launch 
ed  forth,  gaining  in  earnestness  as  his  narrative 
progressed,  and  described  his  mishap  in  the  boat, 
his  inability  to  deliver  the  picture  to  Mrs.  McClure, 
and  the  powerful  stimulus  it  had  been  to  his  courage 
and  ambition.  McClure  listened  intently,  his  face 
sobering  as  Hardy  enthused  over  the  beauty  of  the 
face,  and  resuming  its  exasperating  smile  as  he 
spoke  of  its  influence  for  good. 

"And  I  tell  you,  McClure,"  said  Hardy,  vehement- 
264 


The    Dancer 

ly,  in  conclusion,  "you  were  wrong — or,  rather,  in 
complete — in  your  judgment.  With  this  face  to  in 
spire  me  I  have  won  an  established  place  as  an 
illustrator,  with  a  career  in  art  ahead  of  me" — he 
began  untying  the  package — "  and  I  could  as  easily 
have  fought  my  way  in  the  navy,  milksop  as  I  was." 
He  handed  the  picture,  framed  in  gold,  to  McClure. 
"Now,  McClure,"  he  said,  "you  told  me  it  was 
your  step-mother's  picture;  and  I  believed  that  it 
was — a  picture  taken  before  I  was  born.  But  an 
artist  friend  of  mine  says  that  he  has  seen  this 
face  in  several  different  poses,  and  he  believes  that 
the  original  is  young.  Tell  me  about  this." 

McClure  studied  the  picture  a  moment,  then  look 
ed  up  and  said,  "  Practically,  Hardy,  you're  in  love 
with  this  face." 

"Love  is  not  the  name  for  it,"  answered  Hardy, 
impatiently.  "  If  I  met  the  living  original,  and  she 
proved  good  as  she  looks,  I  could  love  her.  That  is 
all.  That  face  is  my  ideal  of  beauty." 

McClure's  brow  hardened,  and  he  turned  the  pict 
ure  face  down  on  the  table.  "  I  was  right  in  my  judg 
ment,"  he  said.  "You  are  visionary — too  much  so. 
The  navy  would  have  killed  you,  as  I  said." 

"It  would?"  said  Hardy,  hotly.  "Do  you  think 
me  incapable  of  change  and  growth.  You  have 
changed  and  grown.  You  were  not  dressed  like  this 
when  I  saw  you  last." 

"The  navy  is  full  of  such  as  me,"  answered  Mc 
Clure,  calmly.  "  I  left  a  good  home  to  enlist,  and 

265 


Land   Ho! 

when  I  was  discharged,  shortly  after  I  saw  you  last, 
I  merely  went  back  to  it  and  the  business  I  was  cut 
out  for.  My  folks  were  all  in  the  theatrical  line,  and 
I'm  now  connected  with  the  show  we  were  looking  at 
to-night — assistant  manager." 

"You  are,"  said  Hardy,  his  worn-out  brain  un 
consciously  seeking  relief  from  the  tension.  "  Then 
tell  me — about  that  girl  to  the  right.  I  never  saw 
anything  like  it — such  dancing.  Who  is  she?  Is 
she  young,  and  pretty  as  she  looks  in  that  red 
light?" 

McClure  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  stared  hard 
at  him.  "You  are  certainly  an  erratic  lunatic, 
Hardy,"  he  said,  "or  else  ten  times  more  a  duffer 
and  a  milksop  than  you  were." 

"I  think  I'm  neither,"  rejoined  Hardy,  stiffly. 
"Are  you  trying  to  quarrel  with  me?" 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  McClure,  turning  up  the  picture 
again.  "But  if  you're  a  man  to  derive  inspiration, 
enthusiasm,  ambition,  and  all  such  worthy  emotions 
from  a  mere  picture,  you  cannot,  logically,  go  dotty 
over  a  bit  of  dancing  as  you  did  to-night.  Why, 
you  were  a  spectacle  in  yourself.  Your  excitement 
attracted  my  attention  before  I  recognized  you." 

"I  care  nothing  for  that,"  said  Hardy,  his  face 
flushing.  "  But  what  is  there  strange  or  incongruous 
about  it  ?  She's  a  marvel  of  grace,  but  I  couldn't  see 
her  features,  and  only  asked  if  she  were  pretty." 

McClure  puffed  his  cigar  for  a  while,  then  said: 
"  Because  she  is  the  best  dancer  in  the  company,  we 

266 


The   Dancer 

darken  the  stage  so  that  her  face  will  not  spoil  the 
effect .  Understand  ? ' ' 

"Yes."     Hardy  was  slightly  disappointed. 

"And  her  name  is  Berry  McClure." 

"Your  step-mother?" 

McClure  drew  an  evening's  programme  from  his 
pocket  and  showed  the  printed  name.  Then  he 
twirled  the  picture  around  on  the  table. 

"And  when  she  was  young,  and  pretty,  she  looked 
like  this.  You've  got  the  color  of  eyes  and  hair  to  a 
shade — yellow  and  blue." 

"  Then—  "  said  Hardy,  with  a  sinking  heart.  "  She 
is — my  friend  was  wrong." 

"Berry  McClure  is  an  old  woman,"  said  McClure. 
"The  profession  is  full  of  old  folks.  But  Berry 
McClure 's  photographs  are  still  on  sale  under  the 
copyright.  As  this  one  represents  a  money  value, 
you'll  have  no  objections,  I  hope,  to  my  delivering  it 
to  her  as  I  first  intended?" 

"No-o-o,"  stammered  Hardy,  with  his  head  rest 
ing  on  his  hand.  "It's  hers  —  it's  not  my  prop 
erty.  But  say  —  it  means  so  much  to  me.  Could 
you  not  induce  her— 

"No,  I  could  not — or,  rather,  do  not  care  to.  She 
always  blamed  me  for  losing  it,  the  only  one  of  this 
pose  in  existence.  But  she'll  pay  you  for  your  work 
upon  it  and  for  the  frame.  How  much?" 

"Nothing,"  said  Hardy,  miserably  and  savagely. 
"Where  am  I  to  get  a  duplicate?  I  don't  think 
you  understand  the  value  of  that  particular  picture 

267 


Land   Hoi 

to  me.  It's  like  taking  a  man's  religion  from 
him." 

"Next  winter,"  said  McClure,  "it  '11  probably  be 
on  sale  in  the  shops."  He  wrapped  up  the  picture, 
furtively  watching  the  dejected  face  opposite.  "  Get 
this  nonsense  out  of  your  head,  Hardy,"  he  said. 
"  Mrs.  McClure  wouldn't  like  it.  Take  a  drink  and 
you'll  feel  all  right." 

Hardy  was  moodily  silent,  and  the  invitation  was 
repeated. 

"  I'll  go  you,"  he  said,  straightening  up.  "  Whis 
key." 

It  was  his  first  taste  of  the  liquor,  and,  as  regarded 
immediate  effects,  McClure  had  prescribed  wisely. 
His  sense  of  loss  left  him,  and  his  world  again  be 
came  stable  and  secure.  But  he  talked  volubly  of 
Mrs.  McClure's  wonderful  grace  of  movement,  and 
would  have  returned  to  the  theatre  to  see  more  of  it. 

"  There's  no  use,"  said  McClure.  "  She's  done  her 
turn — that  one  dance  on  the  darkened  stage — and 
she  doesn't  dance  again." 

"Well,  let's  have  another  drink."  The  substitute 
seemed  adequate.  But  it  reversed  his  perspective, 
and  his  sense  of  loss  returned.  Also  was  borne  with 
in  him  a  growing  sense  of  injury,  of  injustice,  and  un 
reasoning  hatred  of  this  calm,  well-dressed  despoiler 
who  smiled  so  triumphantly  at  him — who,  even  when 
proved  wrong,  acted  as  though  in  the  right.  As  the 
fumes  permeated  his  brain,  his  features  stifTened, 
the  little  pucker  between  his  eyebrows  became  a 

268 


The   Dancer 

menacing  scowl,  and  he  stared  steadily  at  the  doubled 
image  of  McClure,  who  fidgeted. 

"You've  had  enough  whiskey,  I  should  judge,"  he 
remarked. 

Hardy  did  not  answer.  His  mind  was  considering 
his  own  muscular  development  and  the  softened 
physique  of  the  once  impressive  McClure.  Why 
should  he  permit  it  ?  Because  McClure  had  master 
ed  him  as  an  untried  boy?  Because  there  was  any 
right,  or  justice,  in  his  stand  ?  There  was  not.  The 
picture  belonged  to  him.  He  had  preserved  it 
through  the  years,  had  owned  it  by  right  of  possession 
had  improved  it  and  framed  it.  Mrs.  McClure  was 
the  only  lawful  contestant,  and  she  had  not  spoken. 
And  she  would  not — could  not — sanction  this  if  she 
did  speak. 

It  has  been  said  that  there  is  more  murder  in  two 
drinks  of  whiskey  than  in  a  larger  number.  Hardy 
had  no  theories — merely  a  lively  belief  in  his  duty  to 
himself ;  which  was  to  enwrap  that  insolent  creature 
in  his  powerful  arms  and  crush  the  conceit  out  of  it. 
Had  McClure  maintained  his  calm,  the  mood  might 
have  left  Hardy  in  a  minute  or  two,  but  he  pushed 
back  his  chair  and  arose  to  his  feet  with  an  assumed 
yawn.  Then  Hardy  went  over  the  table,  brushing 
the  picture  to  the  floor,  and  the  two  men  clinched, 
McClure  cursing,  Hardy  uttering  incoherent  growls. 

Locked  tightly,  they  reeled  about,  and  their  first 
few  steps  crushed  the  picture  on  the  floor.  Noticing 
this,  and  enraged  still  more  by  the  knowledge,  Hardy 

269 


Land   Ho ! 

ceased  his  stricture  on  McClure's  ribs,  pushed  him 
away,  and  struck  out  with  his  fist.  McClure  went 
down  in  a  heap,  and  Hardy  sprang  for  the  picture. 
The  glass  was  broken,  and  the  beautiful  face  marred 
and  all  but  obliterated  by  the  twisting  stamp  of  a 
boot-heel.  Waiters  were  assisting  McClure  to  rise; 
and  others  laid  their  hands  upon  Hardy,  roughly 
at  first,  then  gently,  as  they  saw  tears  in  the  eyes 
that  gazed  at  the  ruined  picture. 

"You  d  —  d  lunatic,"  stormed  McClure,  as,  with 
torn  garments  and  bleeding  face,  he  strove  to  shake 
off  the  waiters  and  get  to  him.  But  without  their 
knowing  why,  perhaps,  the  sympathy  of  all  was 
against  him,  and  he  was  held  tightly  while  Hardy, 
the  berserk  gone  from  him,  was  permitted  to  get  his 
hat  and  leave  the  cafe.  At  the  door  he  turned  and 
tossed  the  wrecked  picture  back  at  its  recent  claim 
ant.  It  was  of  no  further  use. 

To  steady  himself  he  walked  vigorously,  far  into 
the  country  and  back,  and  thus  unknowingly  elim 
inated  the  later  effects  of  the  liquor,  so  that  when 
he  had  reached  his  studio  at  three  in  the  morning, 
clear-headed  and  tired,  he  could  see  no  connection 
between  his  drinking  and  his  rage.  It  was  all  a 
natural  result  of  McClure's  inconsiderate  selfishness. 
As  for  the  whiskey — it  had  done  him  good;  it  had 
lessened  his  grief  at  the  loss  of  his  picture;  and  in 
this  dangerous  frame  of  mind  he  went  to  sleep, 
awakening  at  noon. 

He  expected  arrest,  and  remained  in  his  studio, 
270 


The   Dancer 

awaiting  it,  until  dark;  then,  half -mad  from  the 
strain  on  his  weakened  nervous  system,  and  de 
pressed  by  the  sight  of  the  empty  spot  on  the  wall, 
he  went  forth  to  seek  it ;  but  policemen  let  him  pass, 
and  he  went  to  his  usual  place  for  dinner,  then  to 
the  theatre  that  he  had  gone  to  the  evening  before— 
not  with  any  definite  purpose  of  meeting  McClure 
and  having  it  out  with  him,  but  to  see  the  elderly 
Berry  do  her  turn.  He  went  where  his  wandering 
steps  took  him,  for  he  was  a  man  without  a  present 
object  in  life.  The  emotions  and  the  influences 
that  had  governed  all  his  acts  for  two  years  were, 
for  the  time  at  least,  annulled.  No  one  had  ridi 
culed  him  for  years;  he  was  not  a  milksop  nor  a 
coward;  he  had  disproved  all  that,  and  had  ac 
quitted  himself  to  his  satisfaction  in  his  encounter 
with  McClure.  But  his  beautiful  angel  of  good  was 
gone.  And  so  this  well-found,  well-equipped,  but 
rudderless  ship  drifted  into  the  theatre,  there  to 
be  refitted. 

With  his  mind  prepared,  he  gave  a  better  atten 
tion  to  the  spectacle,  and  searched,  in  the  dim,  red 
glow,  for  some  resemblance  between  the  Berry 
McClure  of  the  picture  and  the  Berry  McClure  on 
t1  e  stage.  He  found  it,  in  certain  phases  of  in 
action,  in  the  poise  of  the  dancer's  head,  in  the  con 
tour  of  the  hair;  but  the  features,  rendered  indefi 
nite  by  the  subdued  glow  of  red,  bore  more  relation 
to  those  of  the  old  lady  he  had  seen  at  home  four 
years  before.  It  was  Mrs.  McClure,  no  doubt  of  it. 

271 


Land   Ho! 

This  point  settled,  and  McClure  being  nowhere  in 
sight,  he  gave  himself  up  to  a  sensuous  delight  in 
her  dancing  and  in  the  blood-stirring  music,  ap 
plauding  insistently  with  the  audience,  and  leaving 
the  theatre  when  the  dance  had  been  repeated,  in 
order  to  hold  in  his  mind  the  fascinating  music  and 
the  vision  of  his  goddess,  redeemed  by  the  obscur 
ing  red  glow  from  the  wrinkles  of  age  to  the  beauty 
and  grace  of  youth.  He  had  seen  by  the  programme 
that  Berry  McClure  appeared  in  a  speaking  part 
later  in  the  evening;  but  as  this  would  necessarily 
involve  strong  light  on  the  stage,  he  would  not  see 
it  and  spoil  the  effect. 

And  the  one-idea  man,  with  a  new  idea  in  place 
of  the  old,  went  dreaming  about  the  streets,  drink 
ing  occasional  drams,  because  they  did  him  much 
good,  and  •  no  harm,  and  retired  late,  unsteady  of 
feet  and  uncertain  of  thought.  But  over  and  above 
the  confusion  in  his  brain  the  graceful  figure  of 
Berry  McClure  rose  supreme,  and  he  sank  into 
sleep  with  the  thrilling  music  tinkling  in  his  ears 
and  an  angel  in  a  red  glow  dancing  upside  down 
on  the  ceiling. 

In  the  morning  his  head  was  bursting,  but  he  ap 
plied  the  world-wide  remedy — more  whiskey — and 
again  attended  the  theatre  in  the  evening,  leaving, 
as  before,  at  the  end  of  the  dance.  He  saw  nothing 
of  McClure,  nor  did  he  think  about  him,  until,  chanc 
ing  to  wander  past  the  stage  entrance  of  the  theatre, 
about  the  time  the  performers  were  emerging,  he 

372 


The   Dancer 

was  halted  by  the  usual  crowd  of  on-lookers,  and 
heard  one  say  to  another:  "It's  the  only  Berry. 
See  her?" 

Pushing  his  way  through  the  crowd,  to  where  the 
bright  light  from  the  entrance  illuminated  a  cab 
at  the  curb,  he  saw  McClure  assisting  a  slightly 
built,  gray  -  haired  lady  into  it.  McClure  turned 
before  following,  and  for  a  moment  his  eyes  rested 
upon  Hardy,  but  he  gave  no  sign  of  recognition. 
When  he  had  entered,  Hardy  watched  the  cab  turn 
around  in  the  street,  and  as  it  rolled  away  into  the 
darkness  beyond  the  illumination,  he  saw  her  face 
peering  through  the  window,  and  beside  it  an  ex 
tended  forefinger  pointing,  seemingly  at  him. 

" That's  it,"  he  muttered,  angrily;  "he's  showing 
her  the  nice  boy." 

He  had  recognized  the  stern  -  faced  old  step 
mother,  and  his  anger  was  directed,  not  so  much  at 
McClure  for  pointing  at  him,  as  at  himself  for  his 
weakness  in  seeking  a  view  of  her,  and  thus  spoiling 
his  darling  illusion.  It  required  much  whiskey  and 
many  visits  to  the  theatre  before  the  dimmed  red 
vision  on  the  stage  had  effaced  the  picture  of  the 
commonplace  old  lady  on  the  street,  by  which  time 
his  store  of  money  was  exhausted  and  the  theatrical 
company,  having  finished  its  schedule,  about  start 
ing  on  the  road. 

Utterly  irresponsible  now,  he  would  have  followed 
had  he  the  money.  Without  it  he  was  forced  to 
remain,  brooding  in  his  studio,  and  staring  for  hours 

273 


Land   Ho! 

at  an  empty  spot  on  the  wall.  In  his  short  and 
savage  struggle  for  a  foothold,  he  had  made  no 
friends  that  would  avail  him  at  this  stage.  Men 
who,  before  his  collapse,  had  respected  him  for  the 
work  he  had  done,  yet  had  feared  his  personality— 
his  steadfast  stare  from  under  arching  eyebrows, 
his  quick,  nervous  speech,  and  the  silent  antagonism 
contained  in  his  powerful  physique — washed  their 
hands  of  him  now.  And  because  there  was  not  one 
man,  woman,  or  child  who  dared,  or  cared,  to  ad 
vise,  or  even  ridicule  him,  the  strong  man,  whose 
strength  came  from  without,  went  downward  like 
the  veriest  weakling. 

His  fall  was  as  rapid  as  his  rise.  Unable  to  con 
centrate  his  mind  on  his  work,  he  could  not  fill  his 
orders,  and  soon  lost  his  studio.  He  would  not  go 
to  sea  because  he  now  regarded  it  as  a  step  away 
from  his  peculiar  ideals.  When  necessity  at  last 
compelled  him  to  seek  employment,  the  cluster  of 
chances  called  luck  ran  against  him  until  he  had 
pawned  the  last  pawnable  article  and  borrowed 
from  the  last  available  acquaintance.  Then  his 
landlady  turned  him  out  of  the  room  he  had  rented 
on  the  loss  of  his  studio,  holding  his  trunk  and  worth 
less  contents,  and  his  tramping  of  the  streets  wore 
his  shoes  to  the  uppers,  while  his  clothing,  from  lack 
of  care,  took  on  the  flavor  and  seeming  of  vagrancy. 

At  this  stage  of  his  descent  there  came  a  healthy 
reaction  of  feeling.  He  ceased  to  curse  the  aged 
and  agile  Berry  for  a  siren  that  had  bewitched  him, 

274 


The    Dancer 

and  cursed  himself  for  a  fool;  but  it  came  too  late 
to  help.  Though  he  had  long  refrained  from  drink 
ing  through  lack  of  money,  his  connections  were  now 
severed  and  other  ambitious  and  reliable  men  had 
taken  his  place.  So  he  knew  the  bitter  struggle 
of  the  laborer  out  of  work.  He  remained  honest 
and  never  begged,  but  sought  odd  jobs  of  any  kind, 
from  a  day's  shift  with  a  shovel,  to  carrying  bags 
and  lifting  trunks  at  stations,  finding  at  the  lower 
levels  of  labor  the  fiercest  competition,  and  himself 
— an  artist — the  least  equipped  of  all  competitors, 
blaming  himself  the  more  as  he  descended,  and  only 
occasionally  hating  the  red  vision  of  the  darkened 
stage,  until,  on  a  cold  and  cloudy  evening,  as  he 
shivered  in  the  lee  of  a  corner  of  the  slums,  there 
came  to  him  what  seemed  an  omen  of  good.  In  the 
light  from  the  saloon  window  behind  him  he  exam 
ined  a  soiled  and  tattered  fragment  of  a  magazine 
which  he  had  picked  from  the  gutter.  It  was  a 
well-illustrated  periodical,  and  on  a  page  of  photo 
graph  cuts,  labelled  "  Famous  Beauties  of  the  Me 
tropolis,"  was  the  picture  of  his  ideal,  just  a  little 
older  than  the  last  he  had  seen,  just  a  little  more 
womanly  and  beautiful,  but  with  the  same  uplift 
ing  of  the  large  eyes  and  the  same  wonderful  crown 
of  hair.  He  looked  for  explanatory  text,  but  found 
none ;  nor  could  he  find  on  the  torn  and  grimy  pages 
a  date  or  publishing  name  to  identify  the  issue.  He 
kissed  the  soiled  page,  while  tears  came  to  his  eyes; 
he  breathed  in  sobs,  and  might  have  knelt  down 
10  275 


Land    Ho ! 

and  prayed  had  he  been  left  alone.  But  a  seamy- 
faced  man  in  a  warm  overcoat  halted  before  him, 
and  remarked  that  it  was  a  cold  night. 

Hardy,  with  chattering  teeth,  agreed  that  it  was, 
and  the  nan  suggested  that,  as  he  looked  half- 
frozen,  he  step  inside  and  take  a  bracer. 

Strong  though  he  was  physically,  Hardy  might 
not  have  survived  many  such  nights;  yet  in  his 
new  mood  he  would  assuredly  have  declined  the 
invitation  had  not  the  stranger  volunteered  the  in 
formation  that  the  lunch  within  was  good  and  hot, 
and  free  for  all.  He  tore  out  the  page  of  pictures, 
put  it  in  his  pocket,  and  followed  the  man  into  the 
bar-room. 

He  had  thought  the  picture  an  omen  of  good. 
It  was ;  he  wakened  in  the  forecastle  of  an  out-going 
ship,  "shanghaied"  without  clothing.  And  in  this 
ship,  bound  for  Bombay,  his  reconstruction  began. 


IV 

While  unrestricted  contemplation  of  the  sea  in 
its  various  phases  is  not  antagonistic  to  the  artistic 
temperament  —  poets  and  artists  finding  much  in 
spiration  therein — yet  the  working  economy  of  ship 
board  life  is  such  as  to  extract,  or  at  least  bring  un 
der  control,  the  artistic  side  of  any  temperament 
exposed  to  it.  Young  men  mature  at  twenty-seven, 
not  at  twenty-one,  and  Hardy,  twenty-four  and  a 

276 


The    Dancer 

half  years  old  when  shanghaied,  had  still  two  and 
a  half  years  to  live  before  his  character  would  be 
come  fixed.  In  this  time  much  happened  to  him. 
It  had  taken  six  months  to  reduce  him  to  vagrancy ; 
it  took  ten  more — and  the  details  of  his  upbuilding 
were  as  harrowing  as  those  of  his  descent — to  de 
velop  in  him  sufficient  mental  power  to  save  him 
from  any  but  the  very  mildest  friction  with  envi 
ronment,  by  which  time  the  ship  had  returned  to 
Liverpool,  where  the  whole  crew  was  "  worked  out," 
as  the  process  of  getting  rid  of  men  in  foreign  ports 
is  termed.  And  in  this  big  city  he  walked  the 
streets  as  he  had  done  at  San  Francisco,  for  just  one 
day,  and  then  sought  the  captain  at  his  hotel,  ask 
ing  that  he  save  him  from  the  land.  The  captain 
had  liked  the  nervous,  but  intelligent  and  willing 
young  sailor,  and,  as  the  officers  had  quit  after  work 
ing  out  the  crew,  he  placed  him  on  board  as  ship- 
deeper,  and  later  took  him  to  sea  as  third  mate. 

Hardy  now  considered  his  career  determined.  He 
had  secured  a  good  sea-chest,  and  on  the  inside  of  the 
lid  pasted  the  picture  he  had  torn  from  the  magazine, 
and  which  he  had  preserved.  It  was  still  potent  for 
good,  and  under  its  influence  he  mastered  the  study 
of  navigation.  Then  his  captain  made  him  second 
mate  and  tutored  him  still  more,  until  he  had  reached 
the  critical  age  of  twenty-seven,  when  he  signed  him 
on  as  chief  officer — a  complete  man,  strong  in  mind 
as  he  was  in  body,  quick-witted  and  confident,  with 
the  eye  of  a  mastiff,  a  voice  like  a  trumpet-blast, 

277 


Land    Ho! 

and  the  artistic  part  of  his  soul  reduced  to  a  fetich 
worship  of  a  dream  goddess,  whose  faded  likeness 
ornamented  his  chest-lid.  There  was  also  a  devil 
in  this  creed  of  his — an  image  oft  called  to  his  mind 
as  he  watched  men  drinking — a  red  and  wrinkled, 
elf  like  creature,  dancing  furiously  to  a  weird  tune, 
every  note  of  which  held  a  plaint  of  mental  agony ; 
for  it  had  jangled  in  his  ears  while  he  sank  in  the 
maelstrom  of  city  life.  But  that  the  goddess  should 
bless  him  further,  or  the  devil  afflict  him  again,  never 
entered  his  thoughts.  Both  happened,  however,  the 
affliction  first. 

He  was  again  at  Liverpool,  where  his  ship  had 
taken  in  ballast  for  New  York.  On  the  evening 
before  sailing-day  he  went  ashore  for  a  stroll,  and  in 
front  of  a  brightly  lit  theatre  entrance  was  touched 
on  the  shoulder.  Turning,  he  beheld  McClure,  in 
the  same  immaculate  evening  dress,  older,  shrewder 
of  face  than  ever,  but  without  that  quizzical,  ex 
asperating  smile. 

"Well,  Hardy,"  he  said,  with  a  little  of  hesitancy 
in  his  voice,  "how  are  you?"  He  reached  forth  his 
hand,  and  Hardy  took  it. 

There  was  reason  for  McClure 's  embarrassment. 
It  had  been  a  wild-eyed  enthusiast  whom  he  had  met 
three  years  before,  and  he  was  now  looking  into  the 
eyes  of  a  masterful  man — one  who  knew  his  strength, 
and  whose  firmly  set  mouth  was  taking  on  the 
quizzing  expression  missing  on  that  of  the  other. 

"Pretty  well,  thank  you,  McClure,"  he  answered. 
278 


The    Dancer 

"And  how  is  the  battle  of  life — if  the  question  is 
pertinent?" 

"First  rate.  Over  with  the  show.  In  charge 
now.  You  look  sunburned.  Going  to  sea  again?" 

"Mate  of  a  ship." 

There  was  a  moment's  painful  silence,  then 
McClure  said,  haltingly:  "Ever  drink  anything? 
Let's  have  a  drink.  I  want  to  talk  with  you." 

"McClure,"  said  Hardy,  gravely,  "  I  took  my  first 
drink  with  you  and  my  last  in  the  gutter.  Talk 
with  me  right  here." 

"Well,  that's  bad,"  said  McClure,  brightening  a 
little  at  Hardy's  admission.  "  But  of  course,  if  a 
man  can't  stand  it,  why — " 

"McClure,  it  wasn't  the  drink  that  sent  me  down. 
It  was  the  loss  of  what  built  me  up — the  picture. 
And  I  can  drink  now,  safely,  but  I  do  not  care  to." 

"The  picture.  Yes,  that's  what  I  meant  to 
speak  of.  I  don't  blame  you  now  for  sailing  into  me ; 
but  at  the  time  I  thought  I  was  acting  right." 

"You  were.  It  was  not  my  property.  I  found 
another  in  the  mud  at  my  last  gasp,  and  have  it  yet. 
It  fills  the  bill." 

"  Did  you  ?  Good  enough,  Hardy — but — you  see 
—well,  she  seemed  to  understand  this  thing  better 
than  I,  and  she  wanted  you  to  have  that  picture,  if  it 
did  you  any  good,  and  I  have  it  for  you  now.  Want 
it?" 

"No,  nor  any  sight,  nor  sound,  of  the  lady  in  the 
flesh.  I  regard  her  dancing  as  an  incentive  to  all 

279 


Land  Ho! 

that  is  weak  and  evil  in  me ;  but  when  young  she  wore 
my  ideal  of  a  beautiful  face — that  is  all." 

McClure's  eyes  opened  wide,  and  he  said,  "  But 
wouldn't  you  like  to  meet  her — the  original  of  that 
face?" 

"No,"  answered  Hardy,  emphatically.  "No,  I 
saw  enough  of  her.  I  ruined  myself  watching  her 
dance  in  the  dark.  I  admit  I'm  too  susceptible  to 
whatever  is  musical,  poetic,  and  artistic;  and  it's  a 
strong  point  in  an  artist.  But  I'm  a  practical  sea 
man  now,  with  prospects  of  a  command." 

"  Did  you  ever  see  her  in  the  light  ?" 

"Yes — getting  into  a  cab  with  you.  At  the  time 
you  pointed  me  out  to  her  as  the  nice  boy.  I 
realized  then  what  I  had  tried  not  to  believe — that 
the  most  graceful  creature  in  the  wide  world  was 
your  step-mother,  a  gray-haired  old  lady,  and  that 
was  enough." 

McClure  laughed  heartily.  "It  is  rather  funny, 
isn't  it,"  he  said.  "Yes,  I  pointed  you  out  to  her, 
and  told  her  all  about  you.  She's  been  interested 
ever  since.  But  I  want  you  to  know,  Hardy,  that 
my  attitude  at  the  time  was  simply  to  save  her  from 
annoyance.  Cranks  annoyed  her,  and  you  gave 
promise  of  being  an  all-round  crank,  though  you've 
made  good  since.  But  I  think  you  ought  to  meet 
her.  Have  supper  with  us  after  the  show." 

"Thank  you,  McClure,  but  I'd  rather  meet  the 
devil." 

"Well,"  said  McClure,  laughing  again,  as  he  con- 

280 


The   Dancer 

suited  his  watch,  "  I  must  travel  on  now.  I'll  see 
you  again.  Suppose  you  go  inside.  That  red  dance 
is  just  going  on  the  stage.  If  you  want  to  see  it 
show  my  card  at  the  door,  and  pass  in.  I'll  be  back 
and  join  you  before  long.  I  want  you  to  meet  her." 

Fingering  the  card  which  McClure  handed  him,  he 
watched  as  he  hurried  away,  and,  as  he  turned  his 
head  to  glance  across  the  street,  saw  that  he  still  was 
laughing.  The  inherent  sensitiveness  to  ridicule, 
though  not  played  upon  for  years,  was  nevertheless  a 
potent  force  within  him,  and,  prompted  by  it,  he  did 
what  he  would  not  have  done  for  a  better  friend  than 
McClure:  he  boldly  dared  the  devil  of  his  creed.  He 
entered  the  theatre,  to  look  again  at  the  aged  siren 
that  had  once  bewitched  and  unmanned  him — to 
learn,  if  possible,  just  how  ridiculous  he  might  seem 
in  the  eyes  of  McClure. 

The  card  passed  him  in  but  did  not  secure  him  a 
seat,  and  he  lounged  over  the  rear  chairs  as  he  had 
done  a  lifetime  before.  The  number  had  just  begun ; 
the  theatre  and  audience  were  different,  of  course, 
but  there  was  the  same  darkened  stage  reddened  by 
the  hidden  glow,  the  same  costumes  on  the  per 
formers,  the  same  weird,  jangling  music  from  the 
orchestra,  the  same  "girl  to  the  right."  And  in  her 
dancing  was  the  same  poetry  of  motion,  the  same 
innocent  grace  and  abandon  of  happy  childhood ;  and 
to  John  Hardy,  chief  mate  and  master  of  men,  came 
the  old  mental  and  moral  intoxication. 

With  glistening  eyes  he  applauded  furiously,  and 
281 


Land   Ho! 

when  the  dance  was  ended  went  out  into  the  street  as 
he  had  been  wont  to  do  before — to  save  to  himself  his 
illusions.  Then,  from  association  of  ideas,  perhaps, 
or  from  shock  and  a  reckless  abandon  to  the  artistic 
and  irresponsible  elements  of  his  character,  he 
thought  of  liquor  and  began  drinking — drinking  as 
men  may  under  strong  excitement  after  long  ab 
stinence.  He  had  a  later  fleeting  remembrance  that 
he  met  McClure  at  some  time  during  the  evening,  and 
that  McClure  avoided  him ;  but  he  cared  little  for  that. 
Strong  in  his  mind,  however,  through  all  this  drift 
and  disintegration  was  the  protective  instinct,  and 
he  knew  that  he  must  not  go  aboard  his  ship  in  his 
present  condition ;  so,  at  three  in  the  morning,  when 
barely  able  to  sign  his  name,  he  registered  at  a  hotel 
and  went  to  sleep  with  a  sylphlike  image  dancing  in 
his  brain,  and  his  life's  ambition  crystallized  into  an 
intent  to  see  her  dance,  ship  or  no  ship,  on  the  follow 
ing  evening.  Had  he  wakened  in  time  to  go  on 
board,  however,  he  might  have  resigned  the  intent; 
but  when  he  reached  the  dock  at  mid-day  he  found 
the  ship  gone,  and  learned  from  the  dock-master  that 
a  new  mate  had  taken  his  place  at  the  last  moment, 
and  that  the  angry  skipper  had  sent  his  chest,  his 
discharge,  and  his  balance  of  pay  to  the  ship's  agent. 
And  now  he  realized  his  danger,  and,  so  realizing, 
drew  upon  the  reserve  strength  acquired  through  his 
years  of  self -discipline,  and  forbade  himself  further 
indulgence  in  liquor;  but  this  did  not  preclude  his 
nightly  attendance  at  the  theatre  to  witness  the 

282 


The   Dancer 

part  of  the  performance  that  had  enthralled  him; 
and  the  artistic  debauch  was  as  demoralizing  to  his 
mind  as  though,  normal  of  soul,  he  had  merely  taken 
to  drink.  He  saw  McClure  occasionally,  but  there 
was  no  mistaking  McClure 's  wish  to  avoid  him, 
and,  as  Hardy  was  not  particular,  they  did  not 
meet. 

It  was  only  when  he  found  the  theatre  occupied  by 
another  company,  and  spent  an  evening  of  serious 
reflection  consequent  upon  this,  that  he  took  thought 
of  his  prospects  of  advancement  at  sea — if  not  ir 
revocably  ruined ,  at  least  put  back  for  a  great  many 
years.  Then  he  relegated  the  dancer  to  her  legiti 
mate  place  as  his  evil  genius,  and,  being  now  a  man 
out  of  work,  took  cheap  passage  to  New  York,  where 
he  might  hope  to  get  a  second  mate's  or,  at  least,  a 
boatswain's  berth. 

He  sailed  in  a  mammoth  liner  whose  rules  forbade 
him,  as  steerage  passenger,  to  walk  abaft  a  certain 
imaginary  line  athwart  the  deck.  He  was  content 
with  this  ruling,  and  hoped  that  it  also  applied  to  the 
saloon  passengers,  keeping  them  aft;  for  when  he 
drew  near  it  on  the  first  evening  out  he  saw,  far  down 
the  long  promenade-deck,  the  mysterious  McClure, 
;  pacing  up  and  down  in  a  warm  ulster.  And  sounds 
1  of  music  and  singing  from  the  saloon — with  an  oc 
casional  fragment  of  a  weird,  jangling  dance  tune- 
apprised  him  that  with  him  on  the  steamer  must  be 
the  whole  theatrical  company,  and,  necessarily, 
among  them  the  aged,  agile,  and  fascinating  Mrs. 

283 


Land   Ho! 

Berry  McClure — an  interesting  old  lady,  no  doubt, 
but  one  whom  he  did  not  care  to  meet  personally. 

Yet  he  missed  the  steadying  influence  of  the  pict 
ure  on  the  lid  of  his  chest — stored  in  the  baggage- 
room  out  of  his  reach.  He  had  himself  well  in  hand 
— he  had  drunk  nothing  since  his  last  outbreak ;  but 
the  memory  of  the  dance  tune — a  memory  now,  for 
he  heard  it  no  more — called  to  him  continually,  and 
fought  down  the  memory  of  the  face  in  the  picture. 
He  carefully  avoided  being  seen  by  McClure,  but 
haunted  the  dividing-line  on  the  deck  when  night 
had  fallen,  straining  his  ears  as  saloon  doors  opened 
for  snatches  of  the  sounds  from  within;  and  one 
evening,  while  the  big,  steel  ship  was  charging  over 
the  Georges  Banks  through  a  moon  -  lit  fog,  he 
climbed  a  stanchion  to  the  boat  -  deck  and  made 
his  way  aft  towards  the  saloon  skylight,  screened 
by  the  fog  from  the  officers  on  the  bridge,  yet  able 
to  see  clearly  in  the  moonlight  from  above.  He 
could  not  have  told  what  he  wanted,  except  to  hear 
that  tantalizing  music. 

As  he  passed  a  small  companion  -  door  opening 
from  a  flight  of  stairs,  there  stepped  out  before  him 
a  figure  in  a  long  cloak  and  hood.  The  hood  but 
partly  confined  a  mass  of  wavy  hair,  under  which 
was  a  fair  young  face  with  large,  dark  eyes  up 
turned  to  the  moonlight.  They  settled  on  Hardy 
and  pierced  him  to  the  soul ;  for  they  were  the  eyes 
he  had  painted  into  the  picture,  and  the  wavy  hair 
was  of  the  golden  tint  he  had  chosen  from  his  sub- 

284 


The   Dancer 

conscious  knowledge.  And  the  girl  was  the  living, 
breathing  original  of  the  whole — his  angel  of  good. 

With  his  tongue  thick  against  the  dry  roof  of  his 
mouth,  he  watched  her  with  staring  eyes,  and  she 
stepped  back  a  pace,  then  waited,  as  though  ex 
pecting  him  to  speak.  After  a  moment  he  did  so, 
hardly  knowing  what  he  said. 

"It's  you,"  he  stammered.  "I  didn't  know— 
didn't  think  to  see  you  here." 

"Nor  I  you,"  she  answered,  pleasantly,  as  though 
addressing  an  acquaintance,  and  in  a  musical  voice 
that  seemed  familiar.  "  But  I  knew  that  you  were 
in  Liverpool.  Oh,  I  know  all  about  you!"  Her  big 
eyes  smiled  on  him.  "  You  are  the  boy  who  became 
an  artist.  I  saw  you  in  San  Francisco  through  a 
cab  window — and  then  you  went  to  sea  again,  and 
are  now  an  officer,  I'm  so  glad  you've  succeeded." 

"In  God's  name,"  he  blurted  out,  hoarsely,  "are 
you  living  or  dead  ?  I  mean,  are  you  old  or  young  ? 
What  are  you?  Who  are  you?" 

She  drew  herself  up,  and  the  smile  left  her  face. 
"I'm  afraid,  Mr.  Hardy,"  she  said,  coldly,  "that 
you  have  been  drinking  again.  I  am  sorry,  for  I 
had  felt — I  had — oh,  I  am  sorry." 

With  his  mouth  partly  open,  and  his  fingers 
stretching  and  closing  at  arm's-length  by  his  side, 
he  stared  stupidly  at  the  beautiful  face,  unable  to 
analyze  the  impressions  surging  in  his  brain — un 
able  to  grasp  the  purport  of  her  words  or  frame 
an  intelligent  response.  She  turned  away,  as  though 

285 


Land    Ho! 

to  leave  him  there;  but  her  eyes  fixed  upon  a  point 
over  his  shoulder — at  something  distant.  And  as 
she  looked  the  large  eyes  grew  still  larger,  the  pretty 
lips  parted,  and,  coincident  with  a  yell  from  the 
lookout  in  the  crow's-nest,  she  uttered  a  little 
scream.  Then  came  an  explosive  order  from  the 
bridge:  "Starboard  the  wheel.  Starboard,  for  your 
life."  As  Hardy  turned  to  look,  she  sprang  to 
his  side,  and  there  was  nothing  elderly  nor  feeble 
nor  ghostly  in  the  clutch  which  she  laid  on  his 
arm. 

A  black  shape  was  looming  out  of  the  fog,  nearly 
dead-ahead,  and  in  three  seconds  it  had.  taken  form, 
the  sharp  bow  of  a  steamer  heeling  slightly  to  the 
wind;  then,  topping  the  black  hull,  came  the  white 
bridge  into  view  from  the  blanket  of  fog ;  then  there 
was  a  quiver,  and  a  grinding,  tearing,  crashing  sound 
of  riven  steel.  Shouts  came  from  forward  and 
screams  from  below,  soon  drowned  in  the  louder — 
still  louder  and  louder  —  sounds  of  grinding  and 
tearing  and  crashing.  Some  projection  in  the  bow, 
an  eye-bolt,  a  dead-light,  possibly  a  port-hinge,  had 
caught  the  sharp,  knifelike  bow  of  the  stranger  and 
directed  it  inward.  She  was  still  coming,  splitting 
their  ship,  and  she  only  stopped  when  the  larger 
momentum  of  her  heavier  victim  overcame  her  own. 
Then  her  stern  swung  off  to  starboard,  the  sounds 
began  in  a  new  key,  and  her  nose  twisted  off  in  the 
wound  it  had  made.  Down  by  the  head  she  drifted 
into  the  fog,  while  the  ship  she  had  rammed,  with 

286 


The    Dancer 

part  of  her  side  sliced  off  and  five  compartments 
flooded,  lurched  heavily  to  starboard  and  settled. 


In  the  scenes  of  horror  played  upon  the  reeling 
deck  that  night,  Hardy  played  many  parts,  but  re 
tained  a  clear  recollection  of  none.  One  idea  pre 
dominated  to  the  exclusion  of  rational  thought — a 
creature  lent  from  Heaven  was  in  his  care,  and  for 
her  safety  he,  and  he  alone,  was  to  be  held  account 
able.  And  not  only  for  her  safety,  but  the  safety 
of  others  as  helpless  as  she.  It  was  given  him  this 
night  to  prove  himself.  He  was  to  be  tested  this 
night  for  strength,  not  weakness ;  and  grateful  to  the 
Fates,  he  accepted  the  challenge.  The  dazed  ideal 
ist  gave  way  to  the  practical  man  and  sailor. 

Boats  and  life-rafts  were  to  be  cleared  away  and 
lowered  by  frenzied  wretches  that  knew  not  how. 
With  the  girl  clinging  to  his  arm,  he  directed  by 
voice  and  example.  Women  and  children  were  to 
be  placed  first,  he  said;  and  though  knives  flashed 
and  pistols  spoke  among  the  crazed  and  struggling 
mob  that  surged  up  from  below,  not  a  woman  or 
child  who  reached  the  boat-deck  was  left  behind. 
He  saw  to  it ;  and  in  the  last  boat  to  leave  the  davits 
was  the  girl  in  his  care.  And  over  her,  as  she 
crouched  in  the  stern-sheets,  he  stood  with  half  an 
oar,  guarding  her  from  those  who  would  crowd  her. 

287 


Land   Ho! 

He  never  remembered  that  oar,  but  some  who  did 
said  that  he  had  broken  it  himself. 

But  the  Fates  were  still  unsatisfied,  and  demanded 
more  of  him.  A  hail  came  from  above,  before  the 
tackles  were  unhooked,  and  in  the  darkness  Hardy 
made  out  a  man  leaning  over  the  rail  of  the  prom 
enade-deck. 

"That  you,  Hardy,"  he  called.  "Got  her,  have 
you  ?  That's  good.  Stand  by,  and  I '11  come  down. ' ' 

It  was  McClure.  He  mounted  the  rail  and  sprang 
for  the  after-tackle  with  the  confidence  of  a  sailor; 
but  missed  his  grip  by  a  mere  inch  and  came  floun 
dering  down  in  a  heap,  striking  heavily  on  the  gun 
wale  and  tumbling  overboard.  The  girl  screamed. 

"Unhook  forward  there,"  roared  Hardy,  as  he 
released  the  after  -  tackle.  '  Out  oars  and  stand 
by."  They  obeyed  him  eagerly.  McClure  came  up 
twenty  feet  astern,  and  gurgled:  "Help.  I'm  crip 
pled,  Hardy.  I  can't  swim." 

There  was  not  a  rope  to  throw;  and  there  was  a 
frightened  and  desperate  crowd  of  firemen  at  the 
oars,  who  dipped  them  and  pulled  ahead. 

"Back  water,"  thundered  Hardy,  his  broken  oar 
upraised.  "Back  water,  or  I'll  brain  you  all  on 
the  thwarts."  They  obeyed  him  again,  protesting 
that  the  boat  was  full ;  but  the  stroke-oarsman  pro 
tested  too  bravely,  and  the  heavy  club  came  down 
on  his  head.  He  was  not  disabled,  though  inclined 
to  silence,  and  the  boat  came  back;  but  McClure 
had  sunk. 

288 


The   Dancer 

"Save  him — oh,  save  him!"  wailed  the  girl;  and 
Hardy  shed  his  coat,  peering  into  the  black  water 
beneath.  There  was  a  movement  not  five  feet 
away — just  a  momentary  appearance  of  a  head — 
and  a  gurgling  gasp,  and  silence. 

"Hold  the  boat  where  it  is,"  said  he,  laying  down 
the  oar;  then  he  dove,  and  reached  the  drowning 
man  before  beginning  the  upward  swim.  Seizing 
him  by  the  hair  and  keeping  behind  him  he  reached 
the  surface,  then,  swimming  on  his  back  with  the 
quiescent  McClure  above  him,  he  regained  the  boat. 
McClure  was  pulled  in,  but  when  Hardy  attempted 
to  follow,  he  met  an  obstacle.  The  stroke-oarsman 
was  erect  on  his  feet  with  the  broken  oar  poised. 

"  Stay  where  ye  are ,  d — n  y e ,"  he  bellowed .  "  Ye '  11 
hit  me  on  the  head,  will  ye?  Didn't  we  say  the 
boat's  full?  Go  ahead  on  the  oars,  ye  fools.  D'  ye 
want  this  bucko  to  swamp  us ?  Get  back,  d — n  ye." 
He  brought  the  oar  down,  once  on  Hardy's  head, 
again  on  his  hands.  Hardy  released  his  hold  and 
sank,  half -stunned,  with  the  screams  of  the  girl  ring 
ing  in  his  ears.  But  he  came  to  the  surface  con 
scious,  and  clutched  the  oar,  which  the  murderous 
fireman  had  flung  at  him.  It  was  small  support, 
but  better  than  nothing,  and  clinging  to  it,  paddling 
weakly,  he  had  not  recovered  his  dazed  wits  before 
the  boat  was  hidden  by  the  darkness  and  fog.  But 
for  many  moments  he  could  hear  the  pleading  ex 
postulations  of  the  girl  and  the  angry  profanity  of 
the  men. 

289 


Land   Ho! 

He  swam,  when  he  could,  away  from  the  sinking 
hull,  until  it,  too,  was  hidden  in  the  fog ;  and  when 
he  heard  a  rushing  of  air  and  hissing  of  steam,  fol 
lowed  by  deep,  muffled  reports  of  bursting  com 
partments,  he  swam  back,  knowing  that  the  ship 
had  sunk,  and  that  there  would  be  wreckage  better 
than  his  oar  to  support  him. 

He  found  a  grating,  climbed  upon  it,  and  floated 
until  the  fog  lifted  at  daylight,  showing  a  sea  dotted 
with  fishing-craft,  and  here  and  there  a  steamer, 
but  no  sign  of  other  wreckage,  nor  of  the  ship's 
boats.  A  fishing  -  schooner  picked  him  up  about 
noon,  transferred  him  to  an  inbound  liner,  and  on 
the  next  day  he  was  in  New  York,  half -mad,  with 
the  problem  still  unsolved. 

Was  the  elderly  Mrs.  McClure  gifted  with  power  to 
renew  her  youth?  Or  was  she  still  young,  but  able 
to  assume  the  gray  hair  and  wrinkled  face  he  had 
seen  on  the  street  of  his  native  village,  which  he  had 
identified  so  often  in  the  dim,  red  glow  of  the  dark 
ened  stage,  and  which  had  appeared  to  him,  framed 
by  the  window  of  the  cab?  Was  this  a  case  of 
dual  existence,  of  polarized  personality  ?  Could  the 
good  in  her  nature  segregate  itself  into  the  figure 
and  face  of  a  fair  young  girl  whose  mere  picture 
could  uplift  him,  and  the  evil  take  the  form  of  a 
wrinkled  elf  whose  dancing  could  utterly  demoral 
ize  him?  If  so,  McClure's  mysterious  conduct  was 
in  a  measure  justified ;  and  McClure  could  explain  it 

290 


The   Dancer 

if  he  were  alive.     He  promised  himself  that  McClure 
would  explain — when  he  got  his  hands  upon  him  again. 

Clad  in  another  man's  hat  and  jacket,  with  his 
damp  roll  of  bills  secure  in  the  fob-pocket  of  his 
shrunken  trousers  —  an  object  of  suspicion  to  any 
metropolitan  policeman — he  visited  the  office  of  the 
steamship  company,  where  an  anxious  crowd  pre 
vented  him  from  getting  immediate  information; 
but  in  this  crowd,  vociferating  loudly  for  his  pay, 
he  found  a  large  Hibernian  fireman,  and  him  he 
knocked  on  his  back,  demanding,  as  he  struck,  news 
of  the  woman  and  disabled  man  he  had  run  away 
with.  Before  the  fireman  was  conscious  enough 
to  answer,  however,  Hardy  was  pinioned  by  two 
policeman,  each  as  broad-shouldered  and  muscular 
as  himself,  and  would  assuredly  have  been  marched 
off  to  jail  had  not  an  elegantly  attired,  elderly  wom 
an  stepped  out  of  the  crowd  and  spoken  for  him. 
Again  his  thickened  tongue  went  to  the  roof  of  his 
mouth,  and  his  eyes  bulged  painfully,  while  he  lis 
tened  to  her  vehement  defence  of  him — which  de 
fence  included  a  condensed  description  of  his  heroic 
mastery  of  the  crazed  mob  on  the  boat-deck,  his 
rescue  of  Mr.  Thomas  McClure,  and  his  desertion  by 
the  crew  while  Mr.  McClure  was  unconscious  in  the 
boat.  As  she  spoke  her  stern  old  face  became  glori 
fied  with  enthusiasm,  and  the  policemen  slackened 
their  hold  on  Hardy. 

"But  what  'd  you  slug  him  fur?"  asked  one  of 
them  of  Hardy. 

291 


Land   Ho! 

"  He  was  the  one  who  clubbed  me  away  from  the 
boat,"  he  answered,  as  connectedly  as  was  possible. 

It  served  him  right  to  knock  him  down,"  declared 
the  old  lady.  "  He  struck  him  twice  with  the  oar — 
twice — once  on  the  head  and  again  on  the  hands.  It 
was  cruel,  horrible,  murderous."  She  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands,  as  though  to  shut  out  the  sight, 
and  Hardy,  staggered  by  the  situation,  would  have 
felt  no  further  jar  to  his  nerves  had  she  declared  her 
dual  personality  right  there — announced  herself  as 
an  eye-witness — and  was  in  no  way  surprised  when 
she  said,  determinedly,  to  the  officers:  "You  shall 
not  arrest  Mr.  Hardy.  Arrest  that  murderer.  I  will 
furnish  the  evidence." 

"  Run  him  over  to  the  house,  Bill,"  said  the  officer 
who  had  spoken.  "He's  too  noisy,  anyhow,  over 
his  dom  pay." 

Then,  while  the  dazed  stoker  was  led  to  jail,  the 
equally  dazed  Hardy  was  led  to  the  street  by  his 
defender,  whose  stern  and  wrinkled  face  sweetened 
to  a  smile  as  she  halted  before  a  hansom  at  the  curb. 

"  I  feel  that  I  have  always  known  you,  Mr.  Hardy," 
she  said.  "  You  were  pointed  out  to  me  one  evening 
when  I  was  in  a  cab;  and  my  business  down-town 
to-day  was  to  get  word  of  you,  if  possible.  You  can 
understand,  I  hope,  how  deeply  we  feel  our  debt  to 
you,  and  how  happy  I  shall  be  to  carry  home  the 
news  of  your  safety.  Tom  is  more  than  grateful; 
he  declares  that  he  surely  would  have  drowned  that 
night — he  had  sprained  his  knee  and  ankle  in  the 

292 


The   Dancer 

fall,  and  is  a  poor  swimmer — but  for  you.  More 
than  this,  Mr.  Hardy — knowing  your  story,  and  the 
curious  and  wonderful  effect  upon  your  life  of  that 
photograph — knowing,  too,  the  strenuous  effort  you 
put  forth,  I  have  taken  the  liberty  of  investigating 
your  standing  in  artistic  circles.  Your  work  was 
well  liked  by  New  York  editors,  most  of  whom  I 
know  very  well ;  and  we  mean  to  use  every  endeavor 
to  induce  you  to  give  up  that  hard  life  at  sea  and 
resume  your  rightful  occupation." 

"Why — how — "  he  stammered;  but  she  inter 
rupted. 

"Oh,  we'll  tell  you  all  we've  learned,  when  you 
come.  We  want  you  up  to  the  house.  I  am  in  a 
great  hurry  now,  and  must  leave  you.  Let's  see  " 
she  produced  a  card-case,  while  her  sharp  glance  ran 
up  and  down  the  whole  bewildered  and  dishevelled 
six  feet  of  him — "this  is  Monday.  Can  you  call  a 
week  from  this  evening?" 

"Y-yes,"  he  said,  taking  the  card  she  handed 
him. 

"Very  well;  we'll  expect  you." 

She  entered  the  cab  and  smiled  a  good-bye  as  it 
drove  away. 

On  the  card  was  an  address — strange  to  him,  of 
course — but  the  name  was  the  name  he  expected  to 
see — "Mrs.  Berry  McClure." 

"  I  can't  make  it  out,"  he  half  groaned,  as  he  walk 
ed  away.  "That's  my  evil  genius,  surely,  and  I 
ought  to  avoid  her.  And  what  '11  she  be  next  time — 

293 


Land   Ho! 

my  good  or  my  evil  angel?  She'll  have  to  change 
back  to  prosecute  the  Irishman." 

He  had  divined  the  meaning  of  her  sharp,  up-and- 
down  inspection  of  him  a  moment  before,  and  forth 
with  sought  a  tailor,  who  took  his  order  and  delivered 
the  clothing  in  time.  Then,  on  the  evening  named, 
fully  convinced  that  he  was  in  the  presence  of  some 
strange  psychical  phenomena,  he  called  at  her 
address,  well-clad  and  presentable,  but  nervous  as  a 
cat,  and,  on  pushing  the  button  of  the  McClure  apart 
ments,  was  admitted  by  a  vision  in  silk — his  angel 
of  good. 

"You're  expected,"  she  said,  gayly,  as  she  drew 
him  in  and  closed  the  door.  "  Give  me  your  hat,  Mr. 
Hardy."  She  took  it  from  him,  hung  it  on  a  rack, 
and  then,  sliding  her  arms  around  his  neck,  reached 
up  on  tiptoe  and  kissed  him. 

"Oh,  Berry  McClure,"  sang  out  a  man's  voice 
through  a  door.  "  You  big  girl.  I  heard  you.  Come 
in,  Hardy;  I'm  laid  up." 

She  seized  his  big  hand  with  her  two  little  ones  and 
led  him  into  a  lighted  room — the  parlor  of  a  "rail 
road"  flat,  where  McClure  was  limping  to  meet  them. 
"I  don't  care  if  you  did,"  she  said,  with  a  pout. 
"He  saved  our  lives."  She  was  blushing  furiously, 
but  not  more  so  than  was  Hardy,  and  McClure, 
noticing,  laughed  uproariously. 

"No  use  kicking  against  Kismet,"  he  said,  as  he 
shook  Hardy's  hand.  "  I've  tried  hard  to  keep  you 
two  apart,  but  I  give  it  up.  And,  Hardy,  old  man, 

294 


The   Dancer 

let  me  congratulate  you  " — he  was  still  shaking  his 
hand  vigorously—  •"  let  me  congratulate  you  on  what 
you've  done  with  yourself.  You're  about  the  biggest 
thing  I  know  of  to-day ;  and,  by  George !  you  began 
as  the  smallest.  Just  think  of  yourself — as  you  were 
once,  and  as  you  were  that  night  outside  here,  when 
you  cleared  away  every  boat  with  a  girl  on  your  arm. 
Did  she  help,  Hardy?  Was  she  an  inspiration,  like 
the  picture?" 

McClure  had  seated  himself  on  the  piano -stool 
and  the  girl  in  a  chair;  both  were  smiling.  But 
Hardy  remained  standing,  his  face  now  white  and  set, 
every  nerve  strained  in  the  effort  at  self-command. 

"  McClure,"  he  said,  gravely,  "  you  must  bring  this 
to  an  end.  I  cannot  stand  it.  I  am  not  built  to 
stand  it.  I  admit  being  helped  by  that  picture  "- 
their  faces  sobered  when  he  had  got  this  far — "  and 
I  claim  to  have  been  ruined  by  a  like  influence — a 
similar  appeal  to  the  artistic  in  my  nature.  Do  you 
remember?" 

McClure,  whose  face  was  relaxing  a  little,  nodded, 
and  Hardy  continued. 

"  You  told  me,  McClure,"  he  said,  "  that  the  picture 
was  that  of  your  step-mother,  Mrs.  Berry  McClure, 
taken  in  youth,  and  that  it  was  still  on  sale."  Mc 
Clure 's  face  stiffened. 

"Oh,  Tom,"  said  the  girl,  in  a  tone  of  protest. 

"  And  I  saw  your  step-mother  many  times  on  the 
stage  and  recognized  her,"  went  on  Hardy,  his  voice 
growing  in  strength  and  earnestness.  "And  I  saw 

295 


Land   Ho! 

her  under  a  strong  light  at  the  stage  entrance,  and 
heard  her  called  Berry  McClure  by  the  on-lookers. 
She  was  entering  a  cab  with  you."  McClure's  feat 
ures  relaxed  again. 

"And,  as  you  pointed  me  out  to  her,  it  is  only 
natural  that  you  should  tell  her  what  you  knew  of 
me,  and  that  she  should  remember;  but" — and 
Hardy's  voice  became  tense — "out  on  the  Banks, 
this  young  lady,  the  living  image  of  a  picture  taken 
forty  years  ago — according  to  your  account,  Mc 
Clure — informed  me  that  I  was  pointed  out  to  her 
from  a  cab  window."  McClure's  face  showed  the 
keenest  interest. 

"  And  down-town  the  other  day,"  went  on  Hardy, 
"  I  met  the  lady  I  know  as  your  step-mother — whom 
I  know  as  the  dancer — -and  she  told  the  same  story : 
that  she  was  the  one  to  whom  I  was  pointed  out. 
She  also  displayed  knowledge  of  that  night's  hap 
penings  which  I  had  forgotten  myself — which  could 
be  possessed  by  no  one  but  myself  or  an  eye-witness 
of  my  acts.  She  claimed  to  be  such — she  promised 
to  testify  against  the  man  who  drove  me  away  from 
the  boat.  She  invited  me  here  to  meet  you  and 
herself,  and  I  find,  not  her,  but  her  younger  self." 
He  bowed  deferentially  to  the  girl,  his  face  still 
white  and  strained,  and  his  voice  hoarse.  She  had 
listened,  open-eyed;  but  McClure's  old,  exasperating, 
quizzical  smile  had  come  back  to  him. 

"  And  I  just  heard  you  call  this  young  lady  by  the 
name  Berry,"  continued  Hardy,  vehemently,  ad- 

296 


The    Dancer 

vancing  with  clinched  hands,  almost  threateningly, 
towards  McClure.  "  In  the  name  of  God,  who  is 
Berry  McClure,  and  what?  Is  she  two  persons  or 
one ;  and  if  one,  which  ?  Is  she  the  young  girl  whose 
picture  made  me  a  man,  or  is  she  the  old  woman 
whose  dancing  sent  me  to  hell  ?" 

He  paused,  and  McClure  soberly  rose  to  his  feet. 

"I  meant  to  clear  this  thing  up  at  Liverpool, 
Hardy,"  he  said,  "but  you  would  not  have  it,  and  I 
knew,  too,  what  you  might  not  have  known — that 
Berry  McClure,  in  either  capacity,  old  or  young, 
would  not  countenance  intoxication.  So  I  was 
helpless.  But  things  are  different  after  that  col 
lision,  and  I  don't  doubt  that  you  can  come  to  us  at 
any  time,  drunk  as  a  lord,  and  have  what  you  order. 
Just  excuse  us  a  moment,  Hardy ;  I  must  send  Berry 
on  an  errand.  Come,  girl,"  he  added,  uout  in  the 
hall." 

He  limped  out  of  the  room,  and  the  girl,  with  an 
anxious,  mystified  face,  followed  him.  Hardy  heard 
a  muffled  confab,  and  the  girl's  protesting  "no." 
But  it  was  soon  silenced,  and  McClure  returned,  seat 
ing  himself  again  at  the  piano. 

"Have  a  cigar,  Hardy,"  he  said,  reaching  for  a 
box  on  top  of  the  piano.  "  I  smoke  all  over  the 
place,  now  that  I'm  on  the  sick-list." 

Hardy  declined. 

"Will  you  stick  to  the  sea,  Hardy?" 

"No,"  he  answered,  gloomily.  "At  least,  I  don't 
know.  It  depends." 

297 


Land   Ho! 

"I  see  the  papers  are  full  of  you  and  your  work 
that  night.  The  company  ought  to  do  something 
handsome  for  you.  Would  you  take  a  berth  from 
them — a  position  on  the  bridge?"  Obviously,  Mc- 
Clure  was  talking  to  kill  time,  and  Hardy  answered 
as  before,  "Don't  know." 

McClure  began  thrumming  the  piano,  striking  im 
provised  chords.  But  Hardy's  savage  mood  seemed 
to  oppress  him;  for  he  said  as  he  fingered  the  keys: 
"If  you'll  think  well,  and  remember,  you'll  grant 
that  I  never  lied  to  you.  I  allowed  you  to  think 
what  you  liked,  but,  as  words  go,  I  was  truthful. 
Candidly,  I  was  not  thinking  of  your  interests,  but 
of  another's.  You  know  that  my  chief  business  in 
life  is  to  take  care  of  Berry  McClure — to  protect  her 
from  mashers  and  cranks." 

"Possibly,"  growled  Hardy.     "But  I'm  neither. 

"Your  interests  conflicted  with  mine,  just  the 
same,"  said  McClure,  as  he  drummed  away  on  the 
keys.  "  I  protected  mine,  having  the  power  at  the 
time.  But  you  proved  the  stronger,  and  have 
forced  my  hand — not  that  I  ever  did,  or  could,  agree 
to  it,  but  because  I  have  to.  I  am  forced  to  see  your 
side,  which  now  looks  big  where  it  used  to  look  small. 
It  is  like  taking  a  natural  look  through  an  opera-glass 
when  you  had  been  used  to  looking  through  the  big 
end — which  makes  everything  look  small." 

"I  understand  the  optical  principle,"  said  Hardy, 
rising  impatiently  to  his  feet.  "But  why?  What 
are  you  driving  at  ?  Can  you  tell  me  why  a  picture 

298 


The    Dancer 

made  a  man  of  a  weakling,  and  why  a  poem  of  motion 
made  a  wreck  of  the  man  ?" 

A  chirrup  sounded  from  another  room. 

"I  can  answer  the  last,"  said  McClure,  somewhat 
sternly.  "  It  was  not  the  poem,  it  was  whiskey. 
Here "  -  he  reached  for  and  handed  Hardy  an 
opera-glass  that  had  lain  on  the  piano-top — "look 
through  the  big  end — down  through  the  rooms.  See 
the  size  of  the  poem  that  wrecked  you." 

Then  he  pounded  the  keys,  bringing  out  the  wild, 
weird  melody  that  had  sang  Hardy  downward — 
the  jangling  dance  tune  that  he  hated  and  loved. 
Mechanically,  he  had  taken  the  opera-glass.  "  Look 
through  the  big  end,"  commanded  McClure  as  he 
drummed.  "Down  through  the  rooms."  He  put 
the  glass  to  his  eyes  and  looked — down  through  the 
series  of  rooms  in  the  "railroad  flat,"  to  where,  in 
the  last  room  of  all,  there  was  a  glow  of  red  from  a 
hidden  source.  In  this  red  glow,  projected  to  a 
distance  by  the  reversed  opera-glass,  a  costumed 
woman  was  dancing  with  the  step,  the  rhythmical 
grace,  and  all  the  happy  abandon  of  his  evil  genius. 
When  the  music  stopped  she  came  on  through  the 
rooms  and  faced  him.  But  it  was  not  the  elderly 
Mrs.  McClure;  it  was  the  girl,  blushing  in  her  worn 
and  faded  costume,  and  with  a  pained  and  anxious 
expression  on  her  face. 

Hardy's  was  the  color  of  a  steel  engraving. 

"This  may  seem  strange  to  you,  Mr.  Hardy,"  she 
said,  with  the  saddest  of  smiles,  "  and  perhaps  cruel, 

299 


Land   Ho! 

after — now  that  we  know — after  what  my  brother 
told  me  in  the  hall — that  my  dancing  was  indirectly 
your  undoing.  I  had  only  heard  about  the  picture, 
and  I  was  so  pleased  and  complimented.  I  wanted 
you  to  have  it.  But  how  could  you  possibly  take 
me  for  my  mother,  even  at  a  distance?  Yes,  we 
were  both  in  the  cab  that  evening.  Tom  told  us 
both,  and  we  both  saw  you  on  the  curb  looking  at 
us.  It  is  so  strange." 

"Not  at  all,"  said  McClure,  dryly,  from  the  piano- 
stool.  "  Only  funny — awfully  funny — to  idealize  a 
picture  and  hate  the  original.  Hello,  here's  mother!" 

Mrs.  McClure,  gloved  and  bonneted,  entered  the 
room,  and,  though  his  world  was  chaos  for  the  present, 
Hardy  was  able  to  take  her  extended  hand  and 
respond  coherently  to  her  greeting. 


On    the    Rio    Grande 


THE  sun  came  out  hot  over  the  hills  to  the  east, 
and  what  little  coolness  was  in  the  morning  air 
left  it.  At  the  bottom  of  the  grayish-brown  wall  of 
a  deserted  adobe  house  a  whitish  object  glistened 
whiter  as  the  sun  touched  it,  then  faded  in  the 
shadow  of  the  building.  The  mud-colored  river 
below  eddied  and  whirled  between  its  muddy  banks, 
and  disappeared  down-stream  behind  a  point  which 
formed  a  part  of  a  mud-colored  bottom  stretching  to 
the  hills  a  quarter-mile  west,  where  the  horizon  ended 
and  the  mud-colored  mesa  began.  Mud-color  was 
the  prevailing  hue,  around  and  above;  for  even  the 
sky  might  be  likened  to  the  inside  of  a  vast  mud 
bake-oven,  so  dull  and  dreary  and  dirty  was  the 
general  effect  of  the  hot  sun  and  dingy  haze. 

The  whitish  object  at  the  foot  of  the  wall  moved 
and  disappeared;  then,  from  under  a  brick  around 
the  corner  protruded  a  head — a  three-cornered  head 
with  glittering  eyes  and  a  half-opened  mouth  from 
which  darted  occasionally  a  red-forked  tongue.  The 
head  reached  out  about  a  foot,  and  the  neck  behind 

301 


Land    Ho! 

sagged  into  the  dirt,  while  the  adjoining  section  of 
body  bent  itself  into  a  double  line  of  beauty,  then  it 
sagged  in  its  turn,  and  the  head  and  neck  extended 
for  a  fresh  grip  on  the  soil.  By  this  mode  of  loco 
motion  six  feet  of  rattlesnake,  with  the  whitish  ob 
ject  which  the  sun  had  kissed  quivering  and  rattling 
at  the  tail,  came  into  view  from  under  the  house  and 
stretched  out  on  the  wooden  doorstep  to  drink  in 
the  warmth  of  the  morning. 

No  sooner  was  he  comfortably  settled,  however, 
than  he  raised  his  head  and  sounded  his  quivering 
war-cry  ominously,  but  subsided  when  he  heard  a 
voice — a  rasping,  small  voice,  yet  with  a  feminine 
smoothness  to  it. 

"Steady,  old  man,"  it  said;  ''it's  only  me."  Then 
an  eight-legged,  eight-eyed,  hairy  thing  of  horror — 
a  full-grown,  black-and-brown  female  tarantula  of 
six-and-a-half -inch  stretch  of  leg  —  hopped  around 
the  corner.  " Good  -  morning, "  she  added;  "had 
breakfast?  Oh,  I  forgot;  you're  as  irregular  at 
meals  as  I  am.  Hot,  isn't  it?" 

"None  too  hot  for  me,"  said  the  snake,  as  he 
reached  his  head  to  the  edge  of  the  step  and  looked 
down  at  his  visitor;  "and  as  for  breakfast,  I  hadn't 
thought  of  it  since  my  last  meal.  It  was  a  tarantula- 
hawk,  and  it  gave  me  the  stomach-ache." 

"Oh,  goodness  me,"  shuddered  the  big  spider, 
while  the  snake  smiled  satanically.  "  I'm  sorry  if  it 
disagreed  with  you — indeed  I  am.  But  I've  heard 
that  tarantula-hawks  are  good  for  snakes — good  for 

302 


On    the    Rio    Grande 

the  nerves.     I  wouldn't  give  up  the  diet  on  just  one 
trial." 

" I've  heard,"  said  the  snake,  remorselessly,  "that 
they  are  very  bad  for  tarantulas'  nerves.  Let's  see 
—how  do  they  treat  you  folks?  Sting  you  first, 
don't  they—" 

"Please  don't,"  interrupted  the  other. 

"  Yes,  that's  it.  Sting  you  first  and  paralyze  you 
with  the  poison;  then  they  lug  you  off  to  a  hole  in 
the  ground  somewhere  around,  and  lay  eggs  under 
your  hide,  which  hatch  out  in  time,  and  the  young 
sters  feed  on  your  flesh.  Wonder  how  it  feels." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know — it's  too  horrid  to  think  of. 
Please,  don't  speak  of  it,"  whimpered  the  tarantula. 

"Yes,  yes,  old  lady,"  said  the  snake,  soothingly; 
"  it  is  horrid — for  you ;  but  it's  fine  for  the  little  folks. 
I  wonder,  too,"  he  added,  sweetly,  "how  a  nice,  fat 
tarantula  tastes.  It  must  be  good." 

The  nervous  female  hopped  off  beyond  the  snake's 
striking  distance  at  this,  and  her  eight  little  eyes 
lighted  with  suspicion,  which  the  teasing  snake 
observed. 

"  Oh,  don't  be  alarmed,"  he  said,  good-humoredly. 
"I'm  not  hungry." 

"How  did  you  get  the  hawk,"  she  asked,  from 
behind  an  adobe  brick  that  lay  on  the  ground;  "  tell 
me." 

"  How  did  I  get  her  ?  Like  this.  Suppose  you  are 
the  hawk,  and  I  am  laying  out  on  a  big  rock  as  I  am 
here;  I  coil  up  like  this — see?" 

303 


Land   Ho! 

"How?"  asked  the  spider,  eagerly. 

"  Like  this — come  closer — jump  up  on  that  other 
brick  so  you  can  see — there.  Now,  I  coil  up  like  this 
with  my  head  in  the  middle,  while  you — the  hawk, 
of  course — light  on  a  stone  close  by — understand?" 

11  Yes,"  gasped  the  tarantula,  her  eagerness  to  hear 
how  the  terrible  wasp  which  preyed  on  her  family 
had  been  disposed  of  overcoming  her  suspicion  of  the 
rattlesnake. 

"You  settle  down  on  the  stone,"  went  on  the  in 
structor,  '"  and  go  to  flashing  and  preening  your  red 
wings,  while  I'm  getting  all  ready  to  receive  you — 
like  this." 

The  last  two  words  were  spoken  while  the  snake 
lay  stretched  out  over  the  brick  where  the  tarantula 
had  hopped  to  watch  him ;  but,  quick  as  is  the  stroke 
of  a  rattlesnake  —  and  no  camera  mechanism  can 
work  fast  enough  to  photograph  him  in  progress — 
the  tarantula,  no  sluggard  herself,  had  seen  him 
start,  and  leaped  into  the  air  just  in  time  to  drag  the 
ends  of  her  hairy  hind  legs  clear  of  the  wide-open 
mouth  and  spitting  fangs  of  her  guileful  tutor.  She 
came  down  on  his  back,  inserted  the  point  of  a  half- 
inch  mandible  under  a  scale,  gave  it  a  tweak,  and 
hopped  off  to  a  safe  distance  before  the  snake  re 
covered. 

"That's  the  way  I  got  her,"  murmured  the  dis 
comfited  deceiver,  as  he  crawled  back  to  the  step; 
"dead  easy." 

"I  see,"  answered  the  trembling  tarantula,  who 
3°4 


On   the   Rio   Grande 

had  been  nearer  death  than  ever  before.  "  And  would 
you  mind  telling  me  whether  she  jumped,  or  tried  to 
—in  fact,  whether  she  is  quicker  than  I  am  in  her 
movements?" 

"Quicker  than  you?"  said  the  snake,  who  saw  a 
chance  to  bolster  up  a  shaken  reputation.  "  Why, 
you  don't  mean  that  you're  at  all  quick,  do  you.  I 
was  only  showing  you  how  I  got  her,  and  you  nearly 
jumped  out  of  your  skin.  Quicker  than  you  ?  Well, 
I  should  say  so.  A  tarantula-hawk  is  nearly — not 
quite — but  nearly  as  quick  in  her  movements  as  I 
am";  and  as  he  made  this  proud  concession  the  soul 
of  the  tarantula  sank  within  her ;  for  she  had  hoped, 
for  the  moment,  that  she  possessed  power  to  cope 
with  her  mortal  enemy — which  is  really  the  case,  for 
nothing  of  its  inches  alive  can  conquer  a  tarantula, 
unless  it  is  another  tarantula,  when  it  fights  without 
the  hereditary  fear  which  the  red-winged  tarantula- 
hawk  inspires  and  depends  on.  But  she  possessed 
the  trusting  credulity  of  her  sex,  and  the  snake  was 
a  liar ;  so  any  good  in  the  shape  of  confidence  in  her 
self  which  might  have  developed  from  the  trial  of 
skill  was  lost. 

"  They  tell  me,"  said  the  snake,  malevolently,  as  he 
coiled  up  again,  "  that  a  tarantula  stung  by  a  hawk 
never  dies  until  the  last  young  grub  has  eaten  him 
self  to  full  size  and  fatness  and  gone  forth  to  life's 
battle — that,  though  the  motor  nerves  are  paralyzed, 
the  sensory  nerves  are  keenly  alive,  and  every  bite 
on  the  living  tissue  is  felt.  How  is  it?" 

305 


Land   Ho ! 

"Let  us  change  the  subject  —  please,"  said  the 
spider,  piteously;  "let  us  speak  of  pleasanter  things. 
I  heard  a  ranchero  say  the  other  day  that  he  would 
ride  ten  miles  to  kill  a  rattlesnake.  What  a  spirit  to 
show." 

"  And  I'll  crawl  twenty  to  kill  a  ranchero,"  snapped 
the  snake,  spitefully.  "  I  never  met  but  one,  and  he 
nearly  broke  my  back,  just  because  I  struck  at  his 
wife,  too.  I  never  harmed  him." 

"Did  you  get  her?"  asked  the  tarantula,  with 
aroused  interest. 

"Of  course  I  did,"  answered  the  snake,  proudly. 
"I  never  fail — that  is,"  he  added,  remembering  the 
recent  fiasco,  "when  I  try." 

"  How  was  it  ?    Tell  me— hist!  Wait ;  don't  speak." 

The  tarantula  had  shrunk  into  herself — almost. 
Her  legs  were  drawn  close  together,  and  her  body 
touched  the  ground,  while  the  eight  wicked  little 
eyes  watched  the  approach  of  a  blundering,  buzzing 
horse-fly  which  circled  above.  A  few  irregular 
spirals  he  made  in  the  air,  then  swooped  down  and 
landed  within  a  yard  of  the  quiescent  enemy,  darted 
here  and  there  as  though  uncertain  of  what  he  came 
for,  and — went  to  sleep. 

The  thing  of  legs  and  hair  and  fangs  sailed 
through  the  air  on  a  parabolic  curve,  and  came  down 
where  the  fly  had  been  but  was  not;  for,  coincident 
with  the  beginning  of  that  curve,  a  straight  line  had 
begun  from  a  hole  under  another  adobe  brick  six  feet 
from  the  fly  in  the  opposite  direction,  and  this 

306 


On    the    Rio    Grande 

straight  line  had  struck  the  sleeper  while  the  taran 
tula  was  still  rising,  and  carried  him  with  it  a  foot 
farther,  where  it  stopped  and  resolved  into  a  forty- 
legged  centipede,  eight  inches  long,  bilious  of  soul 
as  he  was  of  complexion,  and  of  healthy  voracity  of 
appetite,  as  was  evidenced  by  the  agitated  horse 
fly  held  firmly  in  his  mouth. 

"Excuse  me,"  said  the  tarantula,  as  she  hopped 
away;  "  I  didn't  know  you  wanted  it." 

"Do  you  know  it  now?"  answered  the  centipede, 
between  his  teeth,  as,  devouring  the  fly,  he  glared 
viciously  at  her  with  the  cluster  of  hawse-pipes  that 
he  used  for  eyes. 

"No  offence,  I  assure  you,"  said  the  tarantula, 
hopping  to  a  third  brick  at  a  safe  distance  from  the 
snake — though,  if  a  fight  were  forced  upon  her  with 
either,  she  would  have  preferred  doing  battle  with  the 
rattler,  who  himself  might  hesitate  to  attack  this 
heavily  armored  pirate  of  forty  guns.  The  rattle 
snake  stretched  out  to  full  length  in  the  sun  and 
quivered  silently  and  joyously,  for  the  tarantula 
knew  now  exactly  what  he  felt,  and  without  his  tell 
ing  her,  too.  Nothing  was  said  among  the  trio  until 
the  last  edible  portion  of  the  fly  had  disappeared; 
then  the  centipede,  twirling  his  forward  legs  around 
his  mandibles,  and  good-humored  enough  after  his 
meal  to  speak  first,  remarked  to  the  air,  "  Saw  a 
tarantula-hawk  this  morning." 

"Where — oh,  where  was  it?"  asked  the  nervous 
one,  in  alarm,  while  the  snake  chuckled  audibly. 

307 


Land   Ho! 

"Down  by  the  river.  Asked  me  if  I'd  seen  any 
tarantulas  around  here." 

"And  of  course  you  said  no,"  said  she,  anxiously. 

"And  of  course  I  said  yes — and  described  one  I 
know,  too.  There's  too  many  tarantulas  in  the 
country.  Flies  are  getting  scarce." 

"Oh,  dear  me,  how  unkind!  Now  I'll  have  to 
move  again,  and  there's  no  place  to  go  but  back 
where  I  came  from." 

"Well,  go  back." 

"  I  just  will — as  soon  as  my  little  ones  can  travel. 
There  are  no  mean  centipedes  there,  anyhow,  though 
I  admit  there  was  a  strong  sentiment  against  me 
when  I  left ;  but  I  hope  I  have  lived  that  down.  I 
think  it  is  too  bad.  I  seem  to  arouse  nothing  but 
antagonism  and  unkindness  wherever  I  go." 

"We  thought  when  you  came  that  you  were 
travelling  for  your  health,"  remarked  the  snake,  as 
he  shifted  end  for  end  to  warm  his  other  side. 
"  What  did  you  do  back  there,  old  girl?" 

"  They  threw  stones  and  hot  water  at  me  and  I  ran 
away  from  them,  if  that  is  what  you  mean,"  said 
the  tarantula,  with  an  injured  air.  "  I  did  nothing  to 
deserve  it.  It  was  only  my  weak  love  for  children." 

"You  love  children  as  you  do  your  husbands,  I 
suppose,"  said  the  snake.  "How  many  husbands 
have  you  had,  widow?" 

"Six,"  she  answered,  promptly;  and  as  the  query 
opened  up  a  field  of  reminiscence,  she  forgot  her 
sense  of  injury  and  treated  them  to  a  long  discourse 

308 


On    the    Rio    Grande 

— after  the  manner  of  widows — on  the  merits  and 
defects  of  her  several  consorts.  The  first  was  good 
— very  good,  indeed ;  she  knew  at  the  time  that  she 
could  never  replace  him ;  the  third  was  next  best,  and 
the  second,  fourth,  and  fifth  were  not  good  at  all, 
having  acquired  an  unfortunate  appetite  for  alkali- 
water  and  green  caterpillar,  which  made  them  taste 
bad.  She  had  hoped  that  the  sixth,  who  was  young 
and  fresh  and  unsullied  by  the  world,  would  take 
the  taste  of  alkali  and  caterpillar  from  her  mouth, 
but  he  didn't ;  he  got  away,  and  crawled  into  a  hole 
too  small  for  her  to  enter,  and  died  there.  She  often 
visited  his  grave. 

"Accept  the  assurance,  dear  madam,"  said  the 
rattlesnake,  politely,  ''of  our  utmost  confidence  in 
the  sincerity  of  your  grief.  It  was,  no  doubt,  a 
heart-rending  sorrow  and  sad  disappointment  — 
you  unconscionable  old  cannibal,"  he  added,  in  a 
different  tone,  for  the  rattlesnake  has  some  pride 
and  a  few  virtues:  he  fights  fair,  for  instance,  and 
gives  warning  before  an  attack.  Then,  too,  he 
never  eats  other  snakes ;  he  leaves  that  to  his  hated 
enemy,  the  black  snake,  who  eats  him. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  that  for  conjugal  felicity, 
old  Ironsides?"  he  said  to  the  immovable  centipede. 
"Eats  her  husbands  before  the  honeymoon's  well 
begun.  Steady,  steady,  old  man.  Don't  be  alarm 
ed,  widow;  he's  only  discovered  his  shadow,  and  is 
taking  a  fall  out  of  it." 

The  snake's  explanation  may  have  been  the  true 

3°9 


Land   Ho ! 

one,  for  in  his  melancholy  ferocity  the  centipede 
could  find  the  animus  of  an  assault  on  his  shadow; 
but  it  is  more  than  likely  that  the  widow  had  talked 
him  to  sleep,  and  the  snake's  innocent  question  had 
startled  him.  He  had  sunk  his  forty  legs,  his  two 
bow-anchors  and  stern  grappling  -  hooks  into  the 
soil,  and  now  lay,  quivering  with  rage,  in  a  small 
cloud  of  dust,  while  his  hawse-pipes  shone  luridly. 

When  the  dust  had  settled,  the  snake  repeated 
the  query. 

"  I  take  no  interest  in  such  humbug,"  he  snarled, 
in  answer. 

"Of  course  not,"  sneered  the  tarantula;  "you're 
all  alike  in  your  family — neither  father  nor  mother 
nor  sister  nor  brother.  I  once  heard  an  old  pro 
fessor — I  got  him  afterwards — say  that  centipedes 
were  unisexual;  and  nobody  ever  called  me  such  a 
name.  No  wonder  you  think  it  humbug.  Uni 
sexual — unisexual — humph!  I  wouldn't  talk." 

"Don't  get  sarcastic,  old  lady,"  said  the  snake. 
"  It  don't  become  your  loving  nature.  Tell  us  how 
your  fondness  for  children  got  you  into  trouble." 

"Oh,  it  was  such  a  beautiful  boy,"  she  said,  in  a 
burst  of  enthusiasm;  "such  a  lovely,  darling  little 
child.  I  used  to  watch  him  from  the  bunch-grass 
as  he  played  about  the  door.  Soft,  yellow  hair  he 
had,  and  eyes  like  the  blue  of  the  sky  after  the  rain, 
and  such  a  pink-and-white  cheek — so  full  and  curv 
ing  and  dimpled.  I  loved  that  boy ;  but  he  wouldn't 
let  me  approach  him;  he'd  always  run  into  his 

310 


On   the   Rio   Grande 

mother  and  describe  me  horridly.  Then  she'd  come 
out  and  I'd  have  to  go.  But  I  loved  him  just  as 
much;  and  after  a  while  I  gave  up  trying  to  make 
his  acquaintance  out-of-doors,  and  crawled  into  the 
house  one  evening  while  they  were  at  supper,  and 
got  up  to  the  ceiling,  where  I  found  a  good  place 
right  over  the  bed;  then  I  waited  until  they  had 
gone  to  sleep,  and  a  long  time  after,  before  I  made 
up  my  mind.  Yes,  I  hung  there,  looking  down  at 
the  lovely  pink  cheek  of  that  child  sleeping  between 
his  parents,  a  long  time;  then  I  crawled  carefully 
along  until  the  darling  cheek  was  right  beneath  me, 
let  go,  turned  over,  and  landed  right  where  I  wanted 
to. ' '  She  paused,  swelled  up  and  subsided,  as  though 
with  an  ecstatic  sigh. 

"And  then?"  asked  the  centipede,  standing  high 
on  all  forty  legs,  and  bristling  with  curiosity  and 
other  emotions. 

"And  then?"  answered  the  tarantula,  with  mild 
surprise.  "Why,  then,  I  took  a  bite,  of  course." 

"Oh,"  said  the  centipede,  as  he  sank  down  again, 
"  I  couldn't  help  asking;  but,  do  you  know,  I  thought 
for  a  moment  you  were  telling  one  of  those  catchy 
stories,  and  were  going  to  say  you  went  right  away." 

"  I  did  go  right  away;  there  was  a  shocking  hub 
bub,  and  that  boy  screamed  frightfully.  I  got 
under  the  bed,  then  they  scalded  me  out,  and  I 
found  a  hole  in  the  floor.  But  they  discovered  me 
under  the  house  next  morning,  and  I  only  escaped 
death  by  hanging  upside  down  all  day  between  the 


Land   Hoi 

beams  until  night  came,  by  which  time  I  had  re 
covered  from  the  shock  and  got  to  the  grass  in  the 
darkness." 

''Reminds  me,"  said  the  rattlesnake,  whom  the 
sun  and  the  conversation  had  warmed  to  a  reminis 
cent  mood,  "of  my  experience  on  a  ranch.  They 
chased  me  with  sticks  and  stones,  and,  as  I  told  you, 
the  boss  nearly  broke  my  back.  You  see,  I  found 
a  nest  of  eggs,  and  as  I  am  very  fond  of  eggs,  and 
as  fully  competent  to  attend  to  them  as  any  measly 
old  hen,  I  chased  her  off  and  coiled  up  on  them 
myself.  Then  comes  a  woman  with  some  tomfool 
remarks  about  how  '  Biddy  didn't  like  the  nest,  and 
she'd  change  it- — put  the  eggs  somewhere  else.' 
Now  I  was  satisfied  with  that  nest  just  where  I 
found  it,  and  notified  her  to  keep  out  and  mind  her 
own  business,  but  she  only  got  off  some  more  tom 
foolery  about  'some  other  hen  taking  Biddy's  nest 
away  from  her — some  hen  with  a  curious  clucking. ' 
Think  of  that — to  liken  my  rattle  to  the  clucking  of 
a  hen.  I  couldn't  stand  that  insult  at  all.  She  stuck 
her  hand  in  —  a  white,  plump  hand  it  was,  too; 
none  of  your  dried-up,  brown  claws  of  the  Greaser 
women — and  I  let  go.  Well,  of  course  she  screamed 
and  ran — women  all  do — and  out  came  the  men.  I 
had  to  go  and  couldn't  take  an  egg  with  me.  I 
reached  grass  and  hid  for  a  while  as  they  beat  up  the 
neighborhood;  but  when  I  endeavored  to  make  my 
way  to  a  tree,  where  I  knew  was  a  deep  hole,  I  was 
discovered  and  nearly  clubbed  to  death.  I  got 

312 


On   the   Rio   Grande 

away,  though,  and  carried  a  clear  remembrance  of 
the  man  who  clubbed  me — the  ranchero.  He  was 
tall  and  sunburned,  with  a  black  beard  and  eyes. 
Some  day  I'll  get  him.  That  was  the  closest  shave 
I  ever  had." 

"Say,"  said  the  tarantula,  "that  tree  with  a  hole 
under  it — was  it  close  to  the  house?" 

"About  forty  feet." 

"Was  there  a  corral  in  the  same  direction?" 

"Yes,  and  a  wagon- house." 

"And  the  house  had  flowers  in  the  window?" 

"Yes,  and  a  chimney  through  the  roof,  and  two 
doors—" 

"And  a  doorstep — three  steps— 

"And  there  was  a  windmill  pump — " 

"And  a  wood-pile — " 

"Yes,  yes." 

"The  same  house.  Ha-he-he-he-he-ha-ho-ho-ha 
ha-he." 

"The  same  family.  You  got  the  boy;  I  got  the 
mother.  Ho-ho-ho-ho-ha-ha-ha-ho-ho-ho. ' ' 

Heartily  and  joyously  their  laughter  arose  on 
the  stagnant  air — so  hearty  and  joyous  and  genu 
inely  spontaneous  was  it  that  the  melancholy  but 
appreciative  centipede  caught  the  contagion  and 
responded  with  a  feeble  grin.  He  could  not  laugh; 
but  then  he  had  no  sense  of  humor,  and  seemed  to 
be  rather  ashamed  of  the  momentary  weakness; 
for  when  the  merriment  had  subsided  he  said,  as 
though  to  hide  his  embarrassment: 


Land   Ho! 

"You  call  that  a  close  shave.  How  would  you 
like  to  be  rolled  up  in  a  flannel  shirt  and  thrown  in 
the  river?" 

"Wouldn't  mind  it  much,"  said  the  snake; 
"neither  would  the  widow — she's  fond  of  it;  but 
I  suppose  it's  different  with  you.  It's  well  known 
that  cats,  donkeys,  tramps,  and  centipedes  detest 
the  water.  How  was  it,  old  Bilious?" 

"  I  was  cold  one  night  and  crawled  into  a  cow 
boys'  camp  and  up  the  sleeve  of  one  of  them.  Just 
as  I'd  got  to  his  breast  and  was  feeling  good  and 
warm,  he  wakened  and  closed  his  hand  over  me— 
but  not  before  I'd  punished  him.  He  rolled  me  up 
in  the  folds,  while  his  comrades  cut  the  shirt  up 
the  side;  then,  swearing  frightfully,  he  took  me  to 
the  river  and  threw  me  in.  I  thought  my  last  min 
ute  had  come.  I  felt  the  horrid  moisture  oozing 
in  and  touching  me  on  all  sides,  but  could  do  noth 
ing.  I  was  imprisoned;  but,  just  as  I'd  given  up 
all  hope,  I  felt  a  jar,  the  folds  unwound,  and  I  found 
a  dry,  or  half-dry,  road  to  the  top  of  a  sand-bar  in 
midstream.  Three  months  I  waited  before  the 
water  went  down  and  I  could  get  to  land.  It  was 
a  frightful  experience.  I  have  been  careful  since." 

Before  the  rattlesnake,  who  had  a  sarcastic  re 
mark  for  almost  all  occasions,  could  comment  on 
this  adventure,  the  vigilant  tarantula,  from  her  out 
post,  called  out,  "What's  that,"  and  darted  close 
to  the  wall,  while  the  centipede  disappeared  in  the 
hole  under  the  brick.  A  broad-horned  steer  was 


On   the   Rio   Grande 

charging  down  past  the  house,  and  behind  him  fol 
lowed  a  large  bay  horse  with  a  rider — a  sunburned, 
black-bearded  man  whirling  a  lariat  and  shouting. 

The  snake  had  thrown  himself  into  a  coil,  sound 
ing  his  rattle  and  balancing  his  head  back  and  forth 
about  six  inches  above.  But  though  the  steer  pass 
ed  within  striking  distance,  he  passed  safely ;  it  was 
when  the  horse  and  rider  reached  the  steps  that  the 
snake  became  a  rigid,  horizontal  bar,  then  a  writh 
ing,  spitting  tangle  of  knots  and  kinks  on  the 
ground. 

And  the  horse  and  rider  also  had  passed  safely. 

1  'Fetch  him?"  asked  the  yellow  one  of  many 
legs,  as  he  half -protruded  his  body  from  the  hole. 
The  tarantula  was  shaking  in  unholy  glee. 

"  Fetch  him!"  shrieked  the  snake.  "  I've  fetched 
loose  every  tooth  in  my  head.  D —  his  wooden 
stirrup.  Why  didn't  I  think?  That  was  my  man 
—my  ranchero — and  he  never  knew  I  struck  at  him, 
either." 

The  centipede  came  out  of  the  hole,  the  tarantula 
hopped  back  to  her  brick,  and  the  complaining 
snake,  with  bleeding  mouth,  crawled  up  on  the  step 
again. 

"  Here  comes  a  coyote, "  said  the  tarantula.  "  Don't 
think  we  need  stir." 

"A  coyote,"  said  the  centipede,  contemptuously. 
"I've  killed  dozens  of  them." 

A  scrawny,  weazen-faced  little  beast  about  the 
color  of  the  centipede  trotted  down  towards  the 


Land   Ho! 

river,  pausing  occasionally  to  nip  different  parts  of 
his  mangy  hide  and  dislodge  the  fleas  which  an 
noyed  him.  His  way  led  him  close  to  the  steps, 
and  one  of  his  pauses  occurred  when  he  was  but 
six  feet  away.  A  warning  rattle  startled  him;  he 
looked  up  and  sprang  sideways,  sprang  back  again 
as  he  spied  the  threatening  tarantula,  standing 
erect  on  her  four  rear  legs;  leaped  straight  ahead; 
turned  around,  and  with  the  remark,  "Bless  my 
soul,"  sat  down  on  the  centipede. 

A  coyote  in  good-humor,  singing  cheerfully  to  the 
night,  can  create  the  impression  in  the  minds  of  un 
initiated  listeners  that  a  half-dozen  agonized  dogs 
are  careering  around  the  plain  with  kettles  fast  to 
their  tails.  When  a  coyote  is  really  hurt,  the  effect 
is  doubled;  and  when  to  his  suffering  is  added  the 
knowledge — which  in  this  case  was  gained  by  a 
half -second's  inspection — that  a  deadly  centipede 
has  buried  his  fangs  and  most  of  his  legs  at  the  hair 
roots  on  the  port-quarter,  the  cry  of  protest  and 
pain  raised  can  only  be  likened  to  the  "ki-yies"  of 
fifty  tortured  curs  in  full  cry. 

Away  went  the  stricken  coyote  for  the  river,  with 
the  inspiring  centipede  endeavoring,  unsuccess 
fully,  to  untangle  himself.  In  three  seconds  the 
bank  was  reached  and  the  chorus  ceased  for  an 
interval,  while  the  coyote  paddled  to  the  surface; 
then  it  began  again  and  continued  until  he  had  swum 
across,  climbed  the  bank,  and  disappeared  in  a  yellow 
streak  behind  one  of  the  foot-hills  to  the  eastward. 


On    the   Rio   Grande 

"Dear  me,"  said  the  tarantula,  "what  an  un 
seemly  hurry !  I  wonder  where  our  forty  -  legged 
friend  is  now." 

"At  the  bottom  of  the  river,  I  should  judge," 
answered  the  snake,  gloomily  —  "dead,  anyhow. 
Water  is  fatal  to  his  family." 

"  How  sad!  In  the  midst  of  life  we  are  in  trouble. 
Well,  I've  always  thought  there  were  too  many 
centipedes  in  the  world." 

"And  too  many  snakes  and  tarantula-hawks  — 
eh,  old  lady?" 

"And  too  many  rancheros,"  said  the  tarantula. 
"There  is  just  one  too  many  for  you,  my  friend. 
Here  he  comes  again."  It  is  sometimes  safe  to 
taunt  a  rattlesnake — when  he  has  a  frightful  tooth 
ache,  for  instance.  The  tarantula  hopped  close 
to  the  wall  again,  and  the  snake,  making  mental 
note  of  the  last  remark,  threw  himself  into  his 
springiest  coil  and  waited  for  his  enemy.  The  sun 
burned  man  was  returning,  surely  enough,  and  be 
side  him  now  rode  another,  a  pale  -  faced,  sickly 
young  fellow,  and  the  snake  noted  that  this  man 
was  on  the  farther  side,  hence  he  would  not  block 
his  stroke.  Both  horses  approached  at  a  walk. 

"Yes,"  the  ranchero  was  saying,  "you  saddle  up 
every  day  and  ride  out  after  cattle,  and  I'll  warrant 
you're  a  well  man  in  a  month.  It's  better  than 
any  medicine  in  the  world.  Of  course  this  coun 
try  has  its  drawbacks,  but  sickness  isn't  one  of 
them." 


Land  Ho! 

"  Is  that  one  of  the  drawbacks  —  on  that  step 
there?  Looks  to  me  like  a  snake." 

"  By  thunder,  you're  right.  That  is  a  drawback, 
and  one  of  the  biggest  rattlers  I've  ever  seen.  Hold 
on  till  I  plug  him."  The  fatuous  snake  was  rat 
tling  defiance  as  the  long  blue  tube  came  out  of 
the  scabbard,  and  continued  rattling,  waving  his 
head  and  darting  his  red  tongue  while  the  tube 
was  brought  to  a  motionless  position.  He  was 
acquainted  with  club  and  stone  warfare  —  inherited 
the  knowledge,  in  fact — but  knew  nothing  what 
ever  of  Colt  revolvers.  So  he  rattled  on,  and 
threatened,  and  dared,  bravely  enough,  until  the 
tube  spat  out  a  tongue — redder  than  his  own — and 
he  felt  a  smarting  pain  as  though  half -cut  in  two. 
He  twisted  and  turned,  thrashing  himself  off  the 
steps,  nearly  paralyzed.  He  could  not  understand. 
His  enemy  had  thrown  nothing  at  him,  and  he  was 
too  far  away  for  that  short,  blue  club  to  reach  him. 
What  was  it  ?  He  would  go  into  the  hole  and  think 
it  over. 

He  had  wriggled  around  the  corner  of  the  house, 
and  now  darted  into  the  hole  in  the  wall  where  his 
rattles  had  shown  to  the  rising  sun;  and  when  all 
but  his  rattles  were  again  hidden  he  stopped,  with 
his  head  within  two  inches  of  the  other  opening. 

"You  haven't  killed  him,"  said  the  pale  young 
man. 

"  One  shot's  enough ;  they  always  die  when  struck, 
and  he  won't  last  till  sundown.  Yes,  that's  one  of 

318 


On   the   Rio   Grande 

our  drawbacks ;  another  is  centipedes ;  and  still  an 
other  is  tarantulas.  We  grow  the  biggest  speci 
mens  of  all  three,  of  any  county  in  the  State  of  Texas. 
You  want  to  look  out  for  them.  Never  go  far  with 
out  your  pocket-flask.  It  generally  cures  if  you  can 
get  drunk — if  you  can't,  you're  agoner.  Ammonia 
is  good  if  you  can  get  it,  and  another  good  plan  is 
to  touch  the  wound  with  a  red-hot  iron — not  to 
burn  but  to  draw.  Of  course  you  want  to  suck  the 
poison  out  when  you're  bitten.  Just  after  I  bought 
this  place,  mother  found  a  rattler  camped  on  a  nest 
of  eggs,  and  if  it  hadn't  been  for  an  old  doctor — a 
college  professor  out  with  an  expedition — who  was 
stopping  overnight  with  us  I'd  ha'  lost  her.  No 
whiskey  could  cure  that  bite.  Why,  the  snake  was 
a  whopper — nearly  as  big  as  that  fellow  under  the 
house;  and  the  worst  of  it  is — seeing  she  got  well — 
the  snake  got  away.  The  old  professor  was  nipped 
himself  by  a  tarantula  a  few  days  afterwards;  but 
he  pulled  himself  through — though  it  was  a  close 
call  for  so  old  a  man  —  and  about  six  months  ago 
he  sent  me  a  few  tarantula  -  hawks  through  the 
mail.  He  said  I  needed  'em  on  this  ranch.  They 
were  queens,  and  I  think  they're  breeding  nicely. 
I  almost  lost  my  boy,  too ;  a  big  tarantula  dropped 
down  from  the  ceiling  one  night — that's  the  way  it 
felt,  he  said — and  bit  him  on  the  cheek;  you  can 
see  the  scar  to-day.  But  an  experience  I  had  with 
a  centipede  was  the  worst.  I  woke  up  to  find  him 
inside  my  shirt  next  to  the  skin,  and  when  I  touched 


Land   Ho! 

him  he  sank  his  legs  and  fangs  into  me  a  quarter 
of  an  inch.  I  threw  away  the  shirt  to  drown  him, 
and  before  I  got  home — I  was  out  on  the  trail,  you 
know — I  was  stark  crazy  and  nearly  dead;  but  I 
had  some  of  the  old  doctor's  stuff  left,  and  came 
around.  There,  see  there,  that's  one  of  the  taran 
tula-hawks  yonder — nothing  but  a  big  wasp  with  a 
bad  opinion  of  tarantulas." 

"  Is  it  a  drawback,  too,  in  the  way  of  being  dan 
gerous?" 

"Not  much;  she's  a  blessing.  You'll  never  hear 
of  a  Western  man  harming  one,  and  they  never 
harm  us — only  tarantulas.  She's  coming  this  way. 
She  sees  something.  By  thunder,  there  you  are! 
Just  watch  that  black  lump  down  there  by  the  wall." 

"What  is  it?" 

"A  whopping  tarantula.  Just  watch  and  don't 
speak,  and  you'll  see  some  fun." 

This  conversation  had  taken  place  within  three 
yards  of  the  tarantula,  who  had  witnessed  the  dis 
comfiture  of  the  snake,  and  listened  to  the  account 
of  the  boy's  and  the  professor's  recovery  with 
various  and  conflicting  emotions;  but  now,  when 
she  saw  the  approaching  wasp,  she  was  really  in 
a  "state  of  mind,"  and  looked  around  for  shelter. 
Three  feet  away  was  the  hole  from  which  the  snake 
had  emerged  in  the  early  morning;  and  wild  with 
apprehension  and  hope,  she  fled  to  it,  but  found 
the  entrance  blocked  by  the  open  jaws  of  the  dying 
snake. 

320 


On   the   Rio   Grande 

"Keep  out  of  here,"  he  hissed. 

"Let  me  in,"  she  pleaded;  "there's  a  hawk  after 
me.  Please." 

"  Get  out.  Get  out  of  this,  or  the  hawk  '11  find 
her  work  done." 

She  backed  out  and  raised  up  in  desperation, 
standing  on  her  four  rear  legs,  and  reaching  the  for 
ward  ones,  with  the  heavy  palpi  over  her  head, 
much  in  the  attitude  of  a  woman  about  to  throw  a 
stone  with  both  hands.  Above  her  was  the  wasp, 
flashing  her  red  wings  and  blue  body  in  the  sun 
light — beautiful,  but  terrible — and  buzzing,  buzz 
ing,  buzzing,  as  she  darted  back  and  forth.  The 
tarantula  though  of  the  space  beneath  the  steps, 
and  in  an  unreasoning  panic  of  fear,  left  the  wall, 
hoping  to  reach  in  two  bounds  this  place  of  tem 
porary  safety,  and  not  realizing  in  her  terror  that 
the  position  she  had  left,  with  her  back  against  the 
wall,  was  the  best  possible  to  take  in  the  open.  The 
hawk  caught  her  in  mid -air  and  descended  with  her. 
Then  she  felt  it — and  oh,  the  pain  of  it,  and  the 
horror  and  weakness  following  that  stab!  She  had 
no  strength  to  leap  now,  though  the  step  was  but 
two  feet  away  and  the  wasp  again  circling  six  feet 
overhead;  nor  could  she  rise  erect.  Slowly  she 
sagged  down;  her  legs  extended,  her  body  touched 
the  ground,  and  she  endeavored  to  crawl.  The 
horrid  buzzing  grew  louder,  and  she  saw  the  slayer 
descend.  Again  the  stab  of  that  poisoned  weapon, 
and  with  it  ended  life's  battle,  if  not  life's  conscious- 

321 


Land   Ho! 

ness.     She  could  not  move,  but  could  feel  herself 
lifted  in  the  air  and  carried  swiftly  away. 

And  around  the  corner  a  whitish  object  quivered 
all  the  day,  until  the  sun,  having  circled  the  house 
in  its  course,  shone  on  it  from  the  west,  lighting  it 
again  to  a  brighter  hue.  Then,  with  the  going  down 
of  the  sun  behind  the  mesa  went  out  life  and  motion 
forever  from  the  whitish  object. 


THE    END 


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^03eD,57B  || 

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v-»  i«^    u»L*/ 

2  0  1957. 

AUG26 

1968  8  7 

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